


Under Construction

by thestarsarefalling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Car Accidents, Construction, Contractor!Dean, Destiel Reverse Bang, Destiel Reverse Bang 2017, F/M, Flashback, Ghost!Castiel, Just Like Heaven au, M/M, Rhode Island - Freeform, Victorian house, alternative universe, lawyer!Sam, newport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsarefalling/pseuds/thestarsarefalling
Summary: Castiel's been quietly haunting the house in which he's met his untimely demise for a long time. Up until this moment, he's only had to deal with squatters and adventurous teenagers, who were easy to drive out with some spooky moans and creepy words scratched into walls. But when his building is slated to become a construction site, Castiel encounters Dean, the contractor and new owner of the home, someone who doesn't scare easy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Destiel Reverse Bang challenge (2017). Based on the art of the amazing [Maria](sketchydean.tumblr.com). The art link is [here!](http://sketchydean.tumblr.com/post/160591825011/under-construction-written) Thank you to my wonderful beta [Deb](http://anmechokola.tumblr.com/), as always, for beta-ing my stories.
> 
> A disclaimer! -> I have never lived in Newport, Rhode Island, so everything is based on Google Maps and things that I've, well, Googled. The house is a real place that I found on a real estate website, so if you want a idea of what the house looks like, you can find it still on sale (I think). Also, I am not a contractor, nor have I ever built or restored a house in my life, so all the house building details are all based on what the internet has told me. 
> 
> Quick note: *** are used to denote POV switches, though they may not be used if the characters are having a direct conversation and both of their thoughts are written out where the use of *** becomes too distracting.

****

 

**Prologue**

“Archived Materials.”

 _The Newport Chronicles, January 10, 1893_ ; _Obituaries._

_Fatal Accident: On the sixth day of the New Year, a wooden beam struck Castiel J. Milton, son of Charles and Naomi Milton, in the head during the construction of his home on Everett Street. He died instantly. Aged 38 years. His was laid to rest beside his parents at the Common Burial Ground._

* * *

There was a decrepit, foreclosed house on Everett Street that was rumoured to be haunted. It was covered in overgrown shrubs, creaked in the wind, and every window was more or less boarded up. The last time it was painted was in the 1980s, so whatever semblance of yellow paint left was on its last legs.

Rumours started circulating around town when none of the occupants stayed in the house for more than a couple months at a time. The longest someone had ever owned the house was eight months until they suddenly packed up and moved across the country. The house had been on the market so many times that realtors around town would groan when seeing a “for sale” sign, but would later place bets as to how long it would remain unoccupied. So everyone assumed that the house was haunted, but then again, it was all rumours.

Up until the 1980s, the people that would buy the home were typically the naive kind: recently moved to Newport, saw the incredibly low selling price of the home, and jumped at the opportunity to live in a 3 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom home with a wrap-around porch. Now, anyone with the right mind would stay away. Ghost stories worked like that. When the bank finally foreclosed on the house, a sign that said “no trespassing” was put up, but not even the door being nailed shut could keep out the squatters and adventurous teenagers. The squatters, having no place to live, needed shelter from the storms and cold, and chose the abandoned home as their refuge, but the teenagers took those rumours and dared each other to go in, spend the night, and find the Everett Street ghost.

There was no real consensus as to whether or not there was a ghost. Over the last year, people were adamant in saying that the ghost activity picked up dramatically. Some people believed it was adrenaline making them see and hear things, and some people believed that they could still see the words “GET OUT” scratched onto the peeling wallpaper, only for it to disappear two seconds later. No matter what people thought, the yellow house on Everett Street continued to push away any unwanted visitors.

 

 

 

 

**Chapter 1**

The sound of a chainsaw immediately caught Castiel’s attention. Walking outside, he watched as men began to cut the tree in his yard down. Curious, he watched as others began to rip apart the vines and overgrown shrubs from the ground and throw them into a large metal bin. None of them could see him – he was dead, after all – but at any threatening sign, he could materialize to scare them. At this point, they were clearing his yard, which he couldn’t do anyways, so he decided to wait it out to see what their end goal was. It would take two days for him to finally see green grass again.

***

Dean Winchester had the paperwork in hand and a small team of subcontractors at the ready. Most of them were friends of his, seeing as he was a contractor himself, so he knew that the team he put together was the real deal – they worked fast and he trusted them. They cleared away all the overgrowth that surrounded the property without him having to be there and he was now seeing the house for what it was, instead of what it was hiding beneath.

The house was old and built in the Victorian style. Whoever built it had an eye for architecture. Dean didn’t have any background on the house besides knowing it had been abandoned since the 60s’ and hadn’t been demolished because of whatever historical status it had, no matter how dilapidated it looked. Outside the house, he took notes of what he could redo, things he could save, and if anything needed to be completely replaced or torn down. The house had a lot of potential.

He walked through the house with his friend and inspector, Benny. It was pretty filthy, with dirt everywhere, garbage, and some animal droppings. He was glad they wore their masks, steel-toed boots, and hard-hats. The carpet was torn in pieces, and some parts of it looked as if it had been set on fire at one point. That was just the front hallway. To the left of him was a sitting room of sorts. It was cleaner than Dean expected, save for the occult symbol spray painted to the ripped carpet. To the right was the living room and dining room that was separated by a wall with a giant hole in it. Behind the dining room was a kitchen with broken tiles. There were two sets of staircases in the house – one by the kitchen, and the other by the front door – though that was expected for a Victorian home. Dean and Benny went up the staircase in the kitchen and onto the second floor, which had three bedrooms two bathrooms. The smell coming from the master bedroom’s bathroom somehow perforated through his mask, nearly making Dean gag, but he held his breath in long enough for him to scurry out of there. The second bathroom wasn’t as bad, and it led to what Dean could assume was the laundry room. Taking the stairs up to the attic, a bird flew out a hole in the roof. Making his way back down to the first floor landing, Benny whistled.

“Lotta work we got here,” he spoke as he wrote a few more things down, “and that was just the walkthrough. Who was the poor sap who wanted this place?”

“Dunno, wanted to keep anonymous.” He responded as nonchalantly as possible.

In truth, he was not only the contractor, but also the new homeowner. Two months ago, Dean bought the crumbling yellow house on Everett Street. He found it listed on an auction site for a price that was so ridiculously cheap that he couldn’t stop himself from bidding on it. A little embarrassed at that fact, he didn’t tell any of his crew that he was the actual homeowner. Dean didn’t think anyone would understand his _other_ reasons of buying the Victorian fixer-upper either.

“Right, well, you got your cleaning crew on hand right? We might as well start now. It’ll take a couple days to clean this mess, and it’s a damn good thing the only thing that this house has is a ratty ol’ bed. After that’s done, I can do my full report. We’ll start on the first floor for now. I’m not sure how structurally sound the main staircase is. Don’t think it can take ten people going up and down it.” Benny nodded as he walked out the door, signalling for people to come in.

“Can we set my stuff up in the sitting room when they’re done? It’s the cleanest one we got so far.” Dean yelled at him, which got a thumbs-up in return.

Not wanting to put his bag down quite yet, he decided that he would go and introduce himself to the neighbours and explain what would be happening over the next six months. Castiel watched in silence as the man left his home. The man was obviously a contractor but he looked different. Most other contractors he’d encountered wanted to gut the place, tear down walls, and replace everything that Castiel created; he could see the motives in their eyes and those became the types he scared away. This man, on the other hand, took notes of things he wanted to keep the same, looked at the house with excited and opportunistic eyes that didn’t speak of profit and money. Maybe he would …

The sound of footsteps pulled Castiel away from his thoughts. Men and women dressed in interesting, plastic looking clothing and masks held cleaning supplies and brooms in their hands. The other larger, burlier man directed them where to go and explicitly said not to go upstairs until he could check if the staircases were sound. Castiel wanted to scoff – of course his staircases were sound. He built them himself.

He watched as the men and women ripped up the burnt carpet (no thanks to the stupid teenagers that almost burned his house down – they got the biggest scare that he could muster), cleaned out the animal excrement, and hosed down anything dirty in chemicals that he couldn’t smell. It was exciting to see his home being cleaned after so long. Passing the cleaning crew, he stood outside to see the contractor speaking to his neighbour – probably introducing himself and explaining the impending work that was about to be done.

“I’m glad to see someone is doing something about that house. It’s just been sitting there doing nothing but attracting squatters and dumb teenagers,” the woman, Meg, spoke. “I’d introduce you to my roommate, Ruby, but she’s at work.”

“Dumb teenagers?” Dean wanted to backtrack on that and really hoped that the house he just bought wasn’t a haven for druggies.

“Oh, no one told you?” A devilish smirk appeared on her face. “That house is haunted.”

He tried his hardest not to roll his eyes. “Sure.”

“I’m serious. Haven’t you ever wondered why that house has never sold? It’s ‘cause there’s a ghost! The town calls it the ‘Everett Street ghost.’” She laughed.

“Right, well, I gotta head out. Have to meet the other neighbours,” he responded.

Castiel watched as he visited the other houses around the block, probably reciting the same words, and probably hearing warnings about the “ghost of Everett Street.” He returned to watching the crew. He was wary about all of this – he didn’t want his home altered, but if a construction crew was here to fix up his crumbling house, it meant change. He had to wait out this crew to see what the contractor had in store. All Castiel ever wanted was for someone to restore his home to what it was supposed to be, and if he had to stop another contractor from implementing drastic changes, he would do so.

***

Dean knocked on the door across the street. A cheery blonde woman in a police uniform answered the door. “Hi, I’m Dean Winchester. I just bought the house across from you.”

“Oh, hi! I’m Donna!” She smiled widely before turning her back on him. “Hey, Jodes! Come and meet the new neighbour, Dean!”

Soon, another woman appeared before him. She was also a cop, but had short brown hair and was half a foot taller than Donna. She looked more menacing than her counterpart.

“Hi, I’m Jody Mills.” She gave a more toned down smile. “I saw they were cleaning out the yard the other day. You’re the brave soul who’s going to revamp the place?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “I’m just letting all the neighbours in the vicinity know that we’re working on the house for the next 6 months. I have my crew and techs in there doing the clean up right now and pest control will be here in the next couple of days.”

“You’re the contractor?” Jody asked a bit sternly.

He nodded again. “Yep, my team and I are doing all the work. We’ve got all the paperwork, and I know the city’s protocol on noise, so you don’t need to worry.”

“Nah, nothing to worry about. We’re just glad that someone is going to be living in there. We’ve kept watch on that house for the past eight months to make sure no one is breaking and entering,” Donna interjected. “Someone nearly burned that house to the ground.”

Dean rubbed his neck. “Yeah, I’ve been hearing from the other neighbours about the house’s guests … and the ghost.”

Jody scoffed. “Don’t believe them. There’s no ghost, it’s just some folklore. This town needs a little excitement so people just make things up. Anyways, we’d invite you in, but we’re actually on our way to the police station.”

“Right, yeah. It was nice to meet you two!” Dean said his goodbyes and returned.

“So, Benny, how’s it going in there?” He asked as he watched the gross bed be marked and disposed as a biohazard.

“We got the carpet out of the first floor. The wooden floors are rotten and gross, so we’ll pry ‘em out tomorrow. Checked the stairs. They’re surprisingly in good shape, so I sent a few up to deal with the rooms. We should be done by the end of tomorrow. You want the toilets gone, right?”

“You’re kidding me.” He glared at his friend.

“Hey, just checking. You know what the owner wants.” Benny shrugged.

“And the owner,” ahem, Dean. “Does not want whatever toilets are in there.”

“Right. Well, unless you want to help out, there’s no reason for you to stay. They can handle it. I’m just going to take a look around to see if I missed anything outside.” Benny looked over his shoulder at the team.

“You sure?”

“Dean, come on. This house just needs to be stripped of the gross stuff and then doused in chemical cleaners. They’re good. This is probably the easiest cleaning job they’ve ever had, and they’ve cleaned out houses cluttered with stuff.”

“Alright, well I guess I’ll come back in a couple days when the pest guy comes.”

“Sounds good, brother,” Benny drawled. “I’ll see you soon.”

***

Castiel watched the interaction between the two … brothers? They didn’t quite seem alike at all. He wondered if calling the one named Dean “brother” was just a friendly nickname of sorts. Either way, he watched Dean walk to his car – an older model compared to the cars that drove by – and drive away.

He was anxious about the changes he heard. He agreed that the carpet needed to go since it was never meant to be there in the first place, but the wooden floors? He painstakingly laid out the wood they were planning to rip out. Sure, they were rotten, and maybe he watched too many people spill things on them, but …

The sound of wood cracking stopped his train of thought. He immediately made his way to his sitting room and saw a man prying out the wood. It was too late.

“No!” Castiel shouted, accidentally revealing himself, but quickly vanished.

“Jesus!” The man stumbled backwards, falling onto his butt.

“Hey. You okay?” One of his colleagues appeared in the door.

“I thought … I thought I saw something.” He muttered. “It’s fine.”

“It’s probably the fumes. You should put your mask back on.” The lady shrugged and left the room, returning to whatever task she was doing.

He put his mask back on and resumed prying the rotting wood. Castiel held back his anger and tears, knowing all his hard work was being torn out in seconds. There was no replacing that wood. Things were going backwards.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first time in a very long time the house was actually clean. The mould, stains, and horrible smells were gone. When they got rid of all the wooden boards nailed to the windows, the house actually looked good in the spring sun, even if it was through translucent tarp taped down to the frames. There was a literal breath of fresh air that fanned through the house.

“They’re good.” Dean smiled and shook his head.

Benny was gracious enough to set up a table in the bare sitting room for Dean to lay his blueprints, other plans, and conceptual designs down while he waited for Garth. There was enough natural lighting for him to work, so he played with his designs for a bit.

“No, no, no,” Castiel said to himself.

He looked at the plans. His hopes for restoring his house to the original design had flung out of the window when he looked over Dean’s shoulders at the new blueprints. He felt stupid hoping that Dean’s kind eyes actually meant something else. This man, _Dean_ , was no different than the other builders. He was going to change everything about the house. A feeling of heaviness returned to his core. How could Castiel come to believe that he would restore his home? He had to drive him out of here. Come nightfall, Dean will be running out like all the others before him.

“Garth!” Dean excitedly greeted the man that stood at the doorway. “Come on in, buddy.”

“Wow, now this is a place.” Garth looked around. “I like it.”

“Yeah, me too.” He smiled. “Come on, let me give you a tour and then I’ll let you get to work.”

*** 

As Dean the contractor gave Garth a tour of the home, Castiel glared at the blueprints. Feeling petty, he took Dean’s pencil, and crossed out everything that looked wrong or wasn’t feasible. His anger gave him more energy to write, but as soon as heard footsteps coming his way, he dropped the pencil.

Castiel watched as Dean continued to converse with Garth before absentmindedly rolling up his plans without noticing the changes and carried them in his arms.

“I’ll be right back. You can get started without me, right?” Dean asked.

“Course!” Garth replied.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, watching the two men. He realized if he started scaring off his guests now, he could stall construction. Without another look, Dean took his paperwork to his car while Garth put on his protective eyewear and walked towards the backdoor. Taking one last look at Dean, and also noticing the pest control van parked behind the contractor, Castiel followed Garth outside. The pest control technician was examining the cracks and holes in the walls - any place where rodents or insects could get in.

Castiel noticed the perfect opportunity to scare the man, Garth. Standing right in the middle of the backyard, Castiel materialized, holding very still, just as Garth turned to find another spot to inspect. He immediately stiffened and paled, but before he could say anything, in one blink Castiel was gone again. He was visible long enough for Garth to take a good, long look.

“Hey, whatcha lookin’ at?” Dean caught up with Garth. “Did you see a skunk? Please tell me you didn’t see a skunk.”

Garth cleared his throat. “No, I’m good, fine, yeah, good.”

Perfect, thought Castiel. Denial as the first reaction was always a good starting point in scaring someone.

“Um.” Garth looked back at where Castiel stood before turning to Dean. “Right, did Benny tell you anything about the walls? Any noticeable holes from the outside?”

“He told me yesterday over the phone there wasn’t anything. We just got that damn hole in the roof.” He shrugged. “We found some animal droppings in the house the other day.”

“How big?”

Dean made a vague shape with his hands.

“Oh, those are probably just wild cats and dogs. Did you see any pellet sized?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“Alrighty! Well, I’ll place some traps just in case there are any critters living in these walls and see if there’s anything hiding in the attic. See if I can find any creepy crawlies.”

“Creepy crawlies? Is that the professional term?” Dean chuckled.

He smiled. “You know it. It’ll take me the rest of the afternoon, but I can call you when I’m done. Hopefully lady luck has shined down on this house and you won’t have to throw out too much.”

“I hope so.”

As soon as Dean left, Garth immediately got to work. Although Castiel was here to make him run for the hills, he could admit the man was good at his job and surprisingly empathetic to the dead squirrel he found in the wall. Still …

“Garth,” he whispered into his ear.

Garth whipped his head around.

“Garth,” he whispered into the other ear.

He could tell that Garth was getting spooked. Luck was on his side when Castiel noticed that the sun was going down faster than Garth was working. He could tell that he was a paranoid man from the way he set up too many work lights in the attic as he worked to find pests. Garth rolled out a piece of tarp on top and beneath the hole in the roof before dealing with an empty hornet’s nest in one of the corners. Castiel smirked, maneuvered himself so that he stood in between two of the bigger work lamps, and used his energy to turn off all the lights so that it was nearly pitch black. Garth slowly turned around and saw the dark silhouette of Castiel. He stook stock still, his eyes bulging, and his skin paling. In an instant Castiel turned all the lights back on, revealing himself to Garth, and yelled “leave!”. It created his intended effect: Garth ran out screaming.

* * *

“Yeah, it’s a great place. Huge, but needs a lot of work.” Dean was showing Sam the pictures he took of the house.

“But why would anyone want to buy it?” Sam asked, giving Dean his phone back.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible to a lawyer. “But it’ll be fun knocking down some walls, tearing up the floors, you know, the whole shebang.”

“Cool. Well if you need help or anything, let me know. I’m sure Jess wouldn’t mind helping either.” Sam noticed the rolled up blueprints on Dean’s dining room table. “Is this it? Can I see it?”

“Yeah. You can look at it if you want, but no way are we asking your pregnant wife to help with construction.” Dean was absentmindedly scrolling through some pictures when his phone died. “Give me a sec.” He could hear Sam unroll the plans as he walked to his bedroom.

Digging through his drawer for the right cord, Dean plugged his phone in, waiting to make sure it was charging before going back to his brother. He was already rolling the plans back up.

“It looks good. How long do you think it’s gonna take?”

“Not too long, I hope. Put together the dream team to help.”

Sam laughed. “Of course you did. Anyways. Gotta hit the hay. Early day tomorrow. Just got a new case from a guy suing another guy after the latter guy put the first guy’s brother in the hospital.”

Dean tried to wrap his head around what his brother just said in order to respond to it, but came up with,“Dude, you’re overworking yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re working on a Saturday. That’s unnatural.”

“You work on Saturdays!” Sam protested.

Touché. “Shut up.”

After a brotherly hug, Dean pulled out his blueprints once more to go over any other details. He was excited to get into the real work of things. As he began to unroll the plans, he noticed weird comments and crossmarks written all over the plan.

“What the hell, Sam,” Dean muttered to himself.

As he begun to erase them - but only some, there were a few that were actually good notes - he heard his phone ring from his room. On the fourth ring he picked up. It was Garth.

“D-Dean?!” Garth was breathing heavily.

“Yeah, dude? Are you okay? You sound …”

Garth interrupted, “I-I’m quitting.”

He blinked. “What? What are you talking about?”

“I-I can’t work in that house, Dean.” Garth tried to level out his voice, but Dean could still hear the quivering.

“Garth? What the hell are you …”

“There’s someone there, man, someone.” His voice sounded a bit frazzled.

“What do you mean, someone? Homeless guys? Teenagers?”

There was silence on the other end and Dean couldn’t take it. “Garth!”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” He hung up.

Construction and inspections were stalled for a bit after Garth’s abrupt departure. There weren’t a lot of pest control technicians in the area, so he really had to go out of his way to find one on short notice. Garth wouldn’t return his calls, and it was only until he managed to corner him in the supermarket that he could properly talk to him.

“Garth!” Dean angrily stomped down the aisle. “What the _fuck!”_

Garth immediately shrank. “I’m sorry, Dean. I-I…”

“Care to explain what the hell happened? You just bailed on me!”

“I’m sorry. I was basically done. I just had that nest to deal with in the attic. I should have called you sooner to tell you …” He rambled on.

“Yeah, I got some other guy to do it, but seriously, what got into you?” He squinted his eyes.

“You’re not going to believe me.” His voice was small.

“Try me.”

Garth looked around to make sure no one else was listening, and then he spoke quietly, “I saw the Everett Street ghost. He’s real. He knows my name!”

Dean blinked in quick succession. “Seriously. A ghost? You’re kidding.”

“I knew you weren’t going to believe me. Whatever, man.” Garth shook his head in anger and walked away.

“Come on, Garth!”

* * *

One by one, Castiel scared every pest control technician that Dean sent his way. Dean was getting frustrated with all the sudden contracts ending and having to go out of his way - and out of the county - to find someone to finish the job. They wouldn’t give him any explanation as to the abrupt departures. After the fourth technician, he finally cleared the house of pests. The day and a half job took nearly a week, since every new technician insisted on starting from the beginning. The only good side was that Dean was certain there weren’t any animals or _creepy crawlies_ left in the house and he didn’t have to pay a single dime for all the broken contracts. The bad side? He knew Garth would never lie to him and doubt began to creep into his mind as to who, or what, was still in the house.

Castiel was seriously hoping that each man and woman he scared away would tell Dean that he was there haunting the house. The man was unfazed as he walked into the house, so clearly every one of them kept their mouths shut. Castiel knew an inspection was next. He would scare every inspector in the country if he had to in order to keep the house as it stood. He recognized the first inspector as the one that visited with Dean on the first day: Benny.

“We know that everything _looks_ okay,” Benny started as they trailed into the house. “But we won’t know for certain until I can do my thing.”

Castiel was fed up with having people continuously come in. Clearly he needed to step it up a notch. There was no need to spoon feed his scarings.

“Damn it, forgot the plans. Give me a sec.” Dean turned around and returned to his car.

“Get out!” Castiel yelled, materializing inches in front of Benny and physically pushed him away before slamming the door.

“Jesus, FUCK!” Benny stumbled backwards back onto the crumbling porch, but the force with which he jumped onto the wood caused him to put his foot through the top stair.

“Benny!” Dean dropped his plans and ran to his friend. “You alright? Can you get out?”

Benny tugged at his foot, wincing at the pain. “Yeah, I think I rolled on my ankle.”

When they got Benny sitting on the porch beside the foot sized hole, Dean took a look at his ankle. “Yep, you rolled it. What the hell happened?”

“Someone was inside and they pushed me out!” He explained angrily.

“Who?”

“I dunno. Some guy. He just came out of nowhere. I didn’t get a good look at him.”

Dean stood up and went to the door, twisting the handle and pushing, but it would not budge one bit. Even as he slammed his shoulder on it, nothing moved.

“Give me a sec, okay?” He waited for Benny’s nod before sprinting over to the house across the street. He knocked frantically at the door, hoping that at least one of the police officers would be home.

“Hiya, Dean!” The cheery blonde one, Donna, answered the door. She wasn’t wearing her uniform so he assumed she was off duty. “How are ya?”

“I think some guy is trespassing on that house. He basically pushed my friend out the door,” he explained quickly. “He’s locked himself in.”

Donna immediately put her serious police face on. “Give me a second to grab my things.”

In less than two minutes, she somehow had her police uniform on plus all her gear. They stalked over to the house. Benny still sat in the same place, but he was rubbing his ankle and watching the two curiously.

“Watch your step,” Dean mumbled as they neared the door.

Donna reached for the door handle, but before he could mention that the door was jammed, she easily turned it and pushed. Dean and Benny shared a confused look.

“You good?”

“I’m good,” Benny replied. “Go catch that son of a bitch.”

“Dean, I think you should stay outside.” Donna spoke.

“Like hell I am. You need backup.”

Donna looked at Benny. “What did he look like?”

“I didn’t get a good look. Tall, white guy. Dark hair.”

“Armed?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Come on,” she spoke at Dean while holding her taser pointed down. “I’m breaking a couple of rules here, just so you know, but I also don’t want to fall through the stairs. Stay behind me.”

He nodded. Slowly, they crept through each room and found no one on the first floor. They went up to the second floor and found no one. No one was hiding in any closets or creeping around when they were checking the other rooms. They returned to Benny.

“Weird.” Donna shrugged.

“What do you mean?”

“The back door is boarded up. All the windows are tarped over with no visible tears. There is literally no possible way for anyone to come in except through the front door.” She looked at Benny. “You didn’t pass out or anything when Dean came over here, right?”

“No, ma’am,” he responded. “The door was jammed right before you came here, so we couldn’t open the door even if we wanted to.”

“Any secret entrances I don’t know about?” She looked at Dean.

Both men shook their heads.

“I don’t know what to tell you gentlemen.” She sighed. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Might be a good idea to check for splinters.” Dean shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Come on.”

***

After regaining energy, Castiel watched from the second floor window as the two men and the policewomen departed. He was frustrated that no one would think that a ghost was haunting the premises. He was very close to simply standing in a sheet with holes cut out for his eyes and mouth and saying “boo!” for them to finally realize what they’ve all been seeing. He sighed and focused his attention elsewhere when a small sparrow landed on what left of the windowsill. The bird looked straight at him and tilted his head right and left in examination before Castiel caught on that he was visible. Dematerializing himself, he sighed once more before turning around and walking the halls of his empty home.

***

“Hey, you okay?” Donna nudged Dean after she carefully got Benny into the Impala.

Dean stood still with his head still craned and looking up at the second floor window. He had gone pale.

“Dean?” She nudged him again. “You good? What are you looking at?” She tried to follow his eyeline, but the only thing she saw was a bird perched by a window.

He shook himself out of it and plastered on a smile. “Yeah, fine.”

“You sure? You look like you just saw a ghost.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean’s knee was bobbing up and down in the waiting room of the medical clinic that he and Benny were in. He was currently waiting for Benny to finish getting checked out and should have been concentrating on the fact that his friend was hurt, but all he could think about was what he just saw.

Of course there was a moment where he thought he was seeing stuff, and maybe he should get a psychiatric evaluation since he was already in the hospital, or maybe there was some weird fungus looming in the dark recesses of the home and he was inhaling hallucinatory spores, but he knew more than one person saw the ghost. Garth, Benny (technically), and who knew if all the other staff he contracted work from saw the ghost and were terrorized by him. Then there were the stories that nearly all the neighbours knew about. It wasn’t just some weird coincidence. There was something … not natural happening in that house.

He dragged his palm across his face. What was he going to do? End all the contracts with his friends? Sell the house? No and no. He couldn’t sell the house without revealing that he was the owner and he couldn’t sell it to make a profit anyways, especially under the condition it’s in. Thinking about it, he didn’t even want to sell the house. It had so much potential to be something absolutely beautiful and he wanted that challenge to renovate. His real end-goal, the one he felt like he could never share with anyone, was to have a home, a spouse, and a couple of kids. Being alone for so long, save the one-night stands, made him realize how short his life was and how envious he was of his brother’s relationship and impending child. Keeping this secret from his friends helped him save face.

Sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chair under the fluorescent lights, he knew a decision had to be made before Benny was patched up. He stared at the receptionist’s desk. She was accepting clipboard after clipboard of injuries. She looked tired and in need of lots of caffeine. A boy was kicking the vending machine. The clock ticked loudly as the second hand moved. An elderly woman was being chauffeured behind the emergency room doors. Dean scratched his cheek. His brain was reconciling his decision against a list of pros and cons.

Finally, he decided. Benny hobbled towards him.

“Doc said I need a few days to recover. Told me to elevate my foot and not walk around on it a lot,” Benny began to explain as Dean stood up to help him walk to the car. “Had a couple of scratches, but my socks got most of the wood splinters. Did you still want me to inspect the house?”

He looked his friend in the eye. “Yes.”

* * *

 

Dean was trying to convince himself that he wasn’t terrified, but returning to the house, alone, to retrieve some things he left behind probably wasn’t the best idea in the world. Still, he left his blueprints and his phone there. He wanted to get rid of the damn ghost, but he needed time to do his research and leaving his things unattended was a big mistake. He thanked the heavens it was still bright outside as it made things a little less spooky. He entered through the front door carefully, making sure to make as little sound as possible. Just five steps in and he could feel as if someone was watching him.

***

Castiel watched from the corner of the room. He leaned his body against the wall with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“And so you return. Again,” he muttered to himself.

He noticed that the contractor returned alone, that is, without his inspector friend. Castiel didn’t mean to push Benny that hard to the point of him hurting himself, or the stairs, but at least it meant one less person here.

***

“There you are.” Dean found his blueprints, unrolled - he was sure he had them tucked in his tube - and with markings all over it.

He knew who the culprit was and every bit of fear dissipated and was replaced by anger. This time, he knew it wasn’t his brother.

***

Confused, Castiel watched as Dean got angry instead of scared. That was new.

“Hey!” Dean yelled, which admittedly startled Castiel and made him double check that he was invisible.

“Whoever you are!” He couldn’t see Castiel by the way he was spinning in a circle and shouting at the air. “You got a whole thing coming if you think you can mess with me!”

“Oh, you think you can just come in here and do whatever you want?” He glided towards Dean, still invisible and unheard by him, and really looked at him before turning towards the wall that Dean was facing.

Raising his hand, he began to scratch a message into the faded wallpaper. Dean watched in fear and irritation as the words “GET OUT” were scratched into the wall letter by letter, only to disappear a few seconds later. As much as Dean would love to stage a sit-in in the house with the ghost, his rumbling stomach and warm bed in his own condo pulled him out of those thoughts. He took his phone, blueprints, and anything else that could be vandalized and stomped his way out.

Castiel tapped his finger to his chin wondering if that actually worked. He didn’t hear Dean muttering “just you wait” to himself as he got into his Impala.

***

After a good meal, and time to regroup his thoughts, Dean began his research. He started off with the basic “how to get rid of a ghost.” The first search result told him to sternly ask the ghost to leave. Like hell he was going to be cordial and ask him to go. No, Dean was going to be petty, but whatever he was going to do was going to be on his terms. He made a list of things he needed to buy and set out buying them the next morning.

He had salt, sage, and his iron crowbar at the ready, though the latter was mainly for if he ever saw the ghost again. He found a list of these items through a group called the “Ghostfacers.” He briefly wondered if they did house calls, but quickly scrapped that idea and instead took notes from their multitude of how-to videos.

It was with interest and humour that Castiel watched Dean take out something tied and begin to burn it. The smoke permeated the air and Dean waved it around while reading from a piece of paper - instructions of what to do.

Dean thought he looked stupid. He wasn't even sure if he really believed in this, but it was the first step. Once he was done, he grudgingly took out the bell he had in his jacket pocket and went to every corner in the house, hitting it. God, he hoped no one saw the open door and came in. Finally with all the “negative energy” gone - or so the paper said after both rituals were completed - he salted the doors and windows with a fine line in order to keep the spirit out.

It was pretty quiet by the time he shut the front door, but he still had to try. “Hello? Uh, ghost? You here?”

For a few moments nothing happened, but then the sound of scratching on the wall caught his attention. It said: “nice try.”

“Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath and cleaned up the salt.

Clutching the iron crowbar, he walked out of the house and back into his car. He sighed and relented to calling in favours. Castiel watched in amusement as Dean performed strange ghost cleansing rituals. He had to admit it, Dean was the only one who didn’t seem to be afraid of him and he was slightly irritated by that fact. Also, no one else even bothered to get rid of him before, but it meant nothing either way - he wasn’t going to leave that easily.

It seemed Dean wasn’t going to stop trying either as the next day Castiel watched as he arrived with a priest.

“Here, the ghost likes to write on this wall.” Dean vaguely motioned to the space that they were all in.

“This is likely the most active area, then. Right, well, I shall get to it,” the priest spoke, which meant it was time for Dean to vacate.

He explained to the priest that he wasn’t religious so the priest in turn told him that it was best to wait outside. His lack of faith would likely jeopardize whatever he was going to do. He honestly didn’t understand what the ghost’s problem was, but he wanted him out of there.

Through the tarped windows he could just barely see the priest talking and sprinkling what looked like holy water around. After a bit of yelling - which sounded like “the power of Christ compels you” - and some more holy water, the priest exited the house and moved towards him.

“I have blessed the house and the land. The spirit should no longer be there.” The priest nodded and got into his car.

Feeling a little skeptical - he didn’t quite believe it was that easy - he went into the house and called out for the ghost. Nothing. He called out again, and still nothing. Perhaps it was his paranoia, or his penchant for double checking things, but he still called in his last line of defence to come in.

It took a couple of hours, but the team of ghostbusters were here. They seemed reputable, and were also recommended through the Ghostfacers website, but Dean thought they looked silly in their getups (coveralls with logos, really?) and equipment, but he was told they were legit. They took out their EMFs and began scanning the entire house. He wearily watched on. It took a good half an hour, but when they finished, they gave him the good news.

“Mr. Winchester. You are free of any spirits haunting this house. We picked up no readings on our EMFs.”

He still wasn’t completely convinced, and when that team left and were paid their exorbitant fee, he called out, “Ghost? You here?”

He was met with silence. For the first time in two days, he was able to let out a sigh of relief. No ghost. He set up his things once more and called Benny to check if he was okay to restart inspecting the house. Of course, he would tell no one about what he spent two days doing - the less people that knew the better - and made up a lame excuse as to how he spent his free time.

“How’s the ankle?” He said by way of greeting.

“S’good. I can walk around on it, finally. Andrea’s happy I didn’t break it.” He could imagine Benny shrugging it off. “I can come around tomorrow and do the inspection. Did the cops find the guy that was in there?”

“Uh, yeah, took care of it,” he responded vaguely.

“Good.” He quickly added, “Oh, don’t bother fixing the stairs. You might need to just replace it.”

“You mean the one with the foot sized hole in it? Yeah, figured that,” Dean chuckled. “Anyways, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. What time’s good for you?”

“Let’s do 9.”

“Sounds good to me. See you, Benny!”

He hung up the phone and looked around the empty room. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the changes he hoped to implement. New floors, new paint, and maybe even some pocket doors. He still did not figure out what kind of style he was going for, but he wanted to keep some of the history alive in the house, refurbishing and reusing any part of the original house that was still, well, in good condition. If he didn’t have a concrete plan (hah) ready to go after inspections were done, his subcontractors would question what they were doing given that the “owner” should know what they want. His vision had to emerge, and it had to emerge quickly. He’d built tons of houses before by going off of what his clients wanted. He couldn’t believe he didn’t know what he wanted for his own house.

For hours, Dean sat on his very uncomfortable stool listening to the sounds of the gentle breeze flapping against the tarp, cars going by, and the occasional text alert coming from his phone. It was surprisingly peaceful without the spirit harassing him, though it was a little boring. Standing up, he stretched and glanced at his notes. It was a cacophony of ideas with no general theme. He groaned. He could worry about it another time. With the ghost gone, all he had to worry about now was the impending inspection.


	4. Chapter 4

True to his word, Benny was waiting at the house when Dean pulled up at 8:55 am.

“Mornin’” Benny waved.

“How’s the ankle?”

“In ship shape,” he replied and then nodded to the door. “Sure you got no trespassers?”

He scoffed and then teased, “If you’re so scared, how about I open the door first?”

“Fine by me.”

Walking up the steps and dramatically making a showing of avoiding the giant hole - Benny just flipped him off at that - he opened the door and called out, “Anyone in here?”

At the silence, Benny playfully shoved him out of the way and began his inspections. He started counter-clockwise, moving through each room and taking notes and pictures of everything he noticed while Dean observed for a little bit. He knew he liked to work silently, so he didn’t bother him, only stopping to ask him if his ankle was alright.

A little while later, Benny grabbed his ladder out of his van and positioned it against the roof. Before he could even argue, Benny literally, but gently, kicked him away with the ankle that he rolled on. Dean simply joined him up on the roof, taking note of the shingles and the hole, but otherwise completely focused on the inspector. When they were back on solid ground and in the house, Benny sat down on his stool.

“Do you want my professional opinion or my personal opinion?”

“Uh, both?”

“Professionally, this is good work for you. Successfully renovating a house like this will earn you a good rep and more money in the long run. Personally, it might be a lot more trouble than it's worth.”

He didn’t like the sound of this, but he had to know. “What - is it that bad?”

“Yeah, we have to replace everything. I don’t know what’s happened in the last 30 years, but the electrical is not up to code anymore, plaster is crumbling, and there’s so much water damage in the insulation in the attic from that giant hole in the roof. Most of the wood is redwood, I think, so it’s strong. HVAC is pretty bad and there’s no water heater.

“Now, the foundation. It ain’t brick, so you’re good there. Someone must have made the switch to concrete sometime in the house’s history, but there’s a pretty big horizontal crack. The water came down and found the foundation rebar, so the rebar corroded and expanded. I can call up my buddy who is a structural engineer and he can come take a look at it, but he’ll probably just suggest epoxy injection and then reseal. Good news is that the rest of the foundation is in pretty okay condition.

“But it is still easier and cheaper to just demolish the house than to renovate,” he explained. “But I leave it up to you, brother, you’re the contractor. You’re the one that has to break the news to the owner.”

He muttered, “Yeah, the owner.”

“Anyways, I gotta head out. Said I’d meet Andrea for lunch.” He clapped him on the shoulder before exiting. “I’ll send you my notes and pictures by the end of the day.”

He looked around the room he was in – the one he was so excited to renovate. Benny made an awful lot of sense. It’d save him thousands of dollars to demolish the place, but on the other hand, there was some strange charm to the old home that he didn’t want to see it go. He had to make a decision about it either way. It wasn’t like he could sell the building in the condition it was in and it was probably easier just to sell the lot than to rebuild from the ground up. He took out his phone and looked for a few contacts that would give him an estimate on bulldozing the place.

“Hey, it's Dean. I’ve got a 2,300 square feet, three storey place on Everett Street. It’s in pretty bad shape. How much for bulldozing it down?” He asked and listened for an answer. He was surprised to hear that it didn’t cost too much – it was the clean up that was a bitch, and that was left for him to deal with. “Can you hold on for a sec?”

After putting the guy on hold, he looked around the empty room with a sad look on his face for a very long time. “I guess I’m tearing you down.” He lifted the phone back to his ear. “Hey…”

“No, stop!” A man literally appeared before his eyes about a foot away with an arm outstretched towards his phone.

He jumped back and dropped his phone, scared shitless. The ghost instantly faded away before he could get his bearings.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Dean shouted. “MOTHERFUCKER!”

He bent over and placed his hands on his knees in an attempt to get himself to breathe normally. His heart was pounding so hard and so quickly that he thought he might have a heart attack. His thoughts consisted of: _the ghost is back, I just saw him, he’s still here, oh my god_ , and a slew of curse words. It took him a good couple of minutes to make logical sentences in his mind, and one question that popped up had to do with why the ghost was still haunting the house.

***

What Dean didn’t realize was that Castiel never left. For a couple of days, he patiently waited in the shadows (ahem, outside) to make his return. His plan was to scare the heebee jeebees out of Dean when the time was right, that is, when he was working by himself in the dark. He knew that he had no problem working by himself well into the evening hours when he was sure there wasn’t a ghost in the building. It was interesting watching him try to get rid of Castiel, but after his first attempt, he knew that Dean would not stop, so Castiel’s little game commenced.

First, he’d let him think that the people he got - the priest and the weird ghost hunting people - drove him out, which would let him think he won. Then, when he felt safe in the house, Castiel would pull out all the stops. It was just a matter of waiting.

When the inspector, Benny, arrived looking recovered from his tumble, he observed and read the man’s notes on the house. He felt progressively worse and worse as Benny noted everything wrong. He didn’t even realize it was in such disrepair. How could he have not noticed? Given that he was dead and not going anywhere, surely he should have recognized the signs - he’d built the house himself. By the end of the inspection, he felt as if he was dragging his feet, with a proverbial darkness within him weighing him down.

He thought he heard the worst of it until Benny gave Dean his options: renovate at a costly fee, or demolish and start over. Dean made a phone call to a demolition crew. He could see it in his eyes, and as he muttered his goodbyes, he was forced to put an end to his charade. He revealed himself - a little ungainly - with the intentions of stopping him.

Perhaps his approach was a little sudden, but he had little time for pleasantries. After all, he had to stop a demolition plan. Though his plan worked for the most part it was only a quick fix for the current situation. Dean looked like he was going to pass out. He was preparing what to say to the man when he did something unexpected: he ran out of the house.

***

Yep, the ghost was definitely real. He appeared before him and actually spoke to him. It wasn’t long before he ran out of the house and into his car, driving away as quickly as possible. Yes, he was spooked - that was an understatement - but the drive helped clear his mind a little, enough to come to the conclusion that all his previous efforts to get rid of the ghost were for naught. He needed someone to take care of this ghost right now.

He parked the Impala on the side of a street and took out his phone searching for anything that guaranteed him results. He scrolled past the ones he already used since they clearly didn’t work and found a listing for a local psychic. He wasn’t sure if he believed in all that stuff, but then again, he didn’t believe in ghosts beforehand, so he was desperate. Starting his car back up, he sped down Spring Street until he found the quaint little shop in between a cafe and a clothing store. He pushed through the door and the bell alerted the man sitting at the counter on his laptop.

“Welcome, welcome. What can I do for you, man?” The guy closed his laptop and looked up at him.

He looked at his phone. “Um, is there a psychic named Pamela here? Is she available?”

“Sorry, dude, Pamela’s at a psychic’s convention,” the man with the mullet replied. “But I can help you if you want? I’m her apprentice. Name's Ash.”

“Okay, cool, whatever. Can you get rid of a ghost?” He didn’t care who the guy was at this point - if he could help with his problem, so be it.

“Possibly. What kind of ghost are we talking about?” Ash leaned in conspiratorially, but didn’t appear to doubt what he was saying.

He huffed. “I don’t know. He’s in a house I’m rebuilding. Can you just come and get rid of him?”

The apprentice shrugged. “Guess so.”

“Come with me.” He led him to his car and they rode discussing the Impala for about ten minutes until they reached the home. “Watch your step.”

“Old house. Old spirit?” Ash asked as he looked around.

“Yeah. Guess so. Come on in.” He led him to the space where he last saw the ghost.

“I definitely feel a presence here, but something is … different.” He closed his eyes as Dean muttered, “that’s the cheesiest psychic line I've ever heard.”

He just ignored that comment “Why don’t you just ask him what he wants?”

“What?”

“You know, ask?”

“I’ve only seen him once. He disappeared right after. Can’t really hold a conversation like that.”

“Okay, well, what does he look like?”

“Um, I think he’s yay high.” He lifted his hand up to the approximate height. “Black hair, old clothes.”

“No name?”

He shook his head.

“And have you gotten his attention before?”

“Yeah.” He scoffed. “Many times.”

“How?”

“Provoking him seems to work.”

“Cool.” He breathed in and opened his eyes. “We don’t need to provoke him.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned towards Dean. “He wants to talk to you.”

That was kind of creepy, and he could feel a shiver going up his spine. He croaked, “what?”

“Ghost, if you could reveal yourself, that’d be awesome. We know you’d like to talk, but we’d like it if we could do it face to face.”

The psychic was right, and as Castiel watched Dean return with this new guest, he was relieved someone was able to mediate should Dean flee again. He revealed himself.

Dean watched as the ghost slowly materialized before his eyes, standing with a slight hunch to his shoulders, a calm but neutral expression on his face, and with his hands at his sides. He wasn’t an expert on clothing history, but it did look somewhat Victorian-like. His hair, though, seemed too unruly for any period. The thought that he was a good-looking ghost crossed his mind, but he squashed that down when he realized how absurd that statement was.

“Speak, apparition.”

“Please, don’t tear my home down.” The gravelly voice that came out of his mouth was slightly less panicked than when Dean first heard it.

Dean blinked a few times when he realized he was still in shock. “I’m sorry, but … what!?!”

“I heard you may plan to demolish the house. Please don’t,” he spoke again.

“No, I get that… Like, WHAT THE HELL?!” He forcefully gestured with his arms at the ghost to Ash. “You’re seeing this right?”

“Yeah, dude. It’s fine.” He was completely unfazed. “He doesn’t want you to tear this house down.” He turned towards the ghost. “What is your name?”

“Castiel.”

“Oh my God,” Dean muttered to himself, swiping his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, this is real.” He turned towards the ghost. “Look around you! There should be a bright light! Go into the light!”

“What?” He exclaimed.

“Go into the light!” He continued on.

The ghost calmly replied, “there is no light.”

He grumbled and crossed his arms.

“What is keeping you here?” Ash continued on, despite Dean’s mini freak out. “Is it the house?”

“I built this house, but I-I died before it was finished, "he explained.

“Ah, say no more. I got it.” He turned towards Dean. “Mind giving me a ride back to the shop?”

“Wait, that’s it?” He perked up.

“Yep, can’t do much else.” He was already heading towards the door and Dean scrambled to follow him.

Exasperated, he cried, “aren’t you going to get rid of him?”

“Nope. I can’t. You heard him.” He sighed. “He’s tethered to the house. Either you demolish it and hope that when you rebuild it back up he’s not there, but if he is, he’s stuck here forever, or you help him finish rebuilding and help him cross the void.”

“Void? What?”

“He’s stuck here because of unfinished business. You finish his business and he’ll leave.” Ash got into the Impala. “You know, you totally could have done this without me, but I liked the change of scenery. I won’t even charge you.”

“Thanks, I guess.” He drove him back to the shop and then went back to the house, parking a little ways away from it to think about what he said.

This was such a classic ghost story that the only thing he could do was laugh ironically. He thought about his options. Sure, he could demolish the house, save money, and start building from the ground up, but what if Castiel was still there? He felt pity for the man. He must have been trapped in whatever ghostly void for decades because he couldn’t finish building. Resigned to his decision he sighed and re-parked his car closer.

He wasn’t there when he stepped inside, so he decided to call out to him. “Castiel?”

Silence.

“Uh, breaker, breaker?” He tried again.

Castiel appeared a few feet away from him in the kitchen.

“We need to talk.” And boy, did he feel weird saying that to the spirit.

Castiel was apprehensive about the contractor. Unlike the others, he actually went through the trouble of trying to get rid of him. Though he was above begging, he was really hoping that he could help him restore the house. He let himself be visible.

“Um, hi. My name’s Dean,” he began slowly.

“Hello, Dean. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he responded politely.

“Yeah, um, sure. Same.” He shuffled on his feet, and then said, “Look…”

He spoke at the same time. “Are you going to demolish the house?”

He perked up. “What? No!”

“I apologize. Your tone suggested that you would.”

“Dude, I bought the house. I ain’t destroying it just because of a bunch of repairs.” He scoffed.

His head tilted in confusion. “You purchased the house? I thought you were just the contractor.”

He didn’t realize he let that part slip until the ghost asked the question. He rubbed his neck. “Oh, uh. Yeah. It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“So if you are not demolishing the house, what are you doing here? The inspector did say that it’s more cost efficient for you to demolish it.”

He sighed. “That psychic guy that was just here? He said you’re stuck here because of ‘unfinished business.’” He used finger quotes. “Your unfinished business is that you died before completing the house. So until you do that you’re stuck here in the 21st century.”

“And how do you suppose I _do_ that?” He asked, hoping for the best answer.

“You can't, but I'm here to help you," he said firmly. “I’m sure that this here.” He gestured to the room they were in. “Isn’t what you imagined.”

Forlornly he replied, “no, it’s not. I built this house in 1893, and I didn’t expect that this is what it’d look like 100 years later.”

He couldn’t help but to feel bad for the guy. He'd never want any of the houses he built to be in such disrepair either, but he'd also never want to be stuck as a ghost eternally watching horrible changes be made. “No offense, but I don’t want you here haunting this place, and you probably don’t want to be stuck here forever, so here’s the deal. If we can compromise on certain parts of the house, like, maybe if we can’t find the rug or whatever you originally wanted since it’s been …” He did some quick math. “124 years, or if something is way, way out of my price range, then you’re just gonna have to deal with it. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure I can get it to the original specs. Then you can cross over into the light and be at peace. How does that sound?”

“You would do that for me?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t have solid plans with how the house was gonna look, so I don’t mind. It's a win-win situation.”

That was the most reasonable and gracious, if a little ineloquent, offer he’s ever gotten. It wasn’t a hard decision. “Let’s get to work.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Alright, first things first.” Dean sat down at his table and took out a notebook. “I need to know everything about this house. If we’re gonna restore this home, I need materials, maybe list of suppliers, whatever you can think of. I’ll go home and research, do a little brushing up on restorations, and maybe see if I have any contacts in Victorian houses.”

Castiel stood there, unmoving.

“You can sit, I guess?” He suggested. “Or stand there, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sit, but when Dean requested he recall the details of the house to him, he realized that he couldn’t. It felt like there was a giant wall put up between the present and the past blocking all memories of his construction.

“Dude, you okay?” He noticed Cas’ eyes were searching for something.

He looked at Dean. “I’m trying to remember, but there’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” He was understandably confused. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“I might need time to think about it. It’s been, as you say, 124 years. I can’t recall the details right now.”

Nodding, he spoke, “I get it. How ‘bout I give you the night to think about it. I’ll come back in the morning and we can set a game plan.”

Castiel nodded. “That would be alright.”

***

Dean returned home that evening thinking that this entire thing was insane. Absolutely, positively insane. He was dealing with a ghost that'd been in that house for 124 goddamn years. He told him that he would help him with his unfinished business of restoring the house. He made it sound so simple talking to him, but in retrospect, this was no easy task.

He wanted to tell someone so, so badly, but he knew the only people he could really talk to were the people who encountered Castiel, but even then, he wasn’t close enough with them to confide his worries and disbelief in.

“Okay, so he’s a client. A ghost client. Just deal with it like any other client,” he said to himself. “Just do the research, get it done, and help him move on.”

Taking a deep breath and opening up his laptop, he got to work. About a couple hours into it, he got a Skype request from his brother.

“Hey. How’s construction?” Sam asked.

“Uh, a bit slow. When Benny had to take a couple of days to recover, it changed my timeline a bit.”

“Yeah, I talked to him earlier. He told me you should demolish. The owner’s not too mad about it, right?”

Oh, right, the “owner.” He nearly forgot.

“No, uh, that’s not happening.” He had a clever thought. “Actually, we met up and talked about the vision he wants. He wants to restore the house completely and make it close to the original design as possible, no matter the cost.”

“Oh, wow. That’s some dedication.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

There was a bit of a lull in the conversation before Sam asked, “what’s the owner like?”

Dean wanted so badly to say “oh, he’s a ghost, and he scared off a couple of people I hired, but he seems cool once you get to know him” just to see Sam’s reaction, but he went with the safer option. “He’s nice. A bit stubborn. Wears weird clothes. His hair seems to never lay flat. Blue eyes …”

“Okay, I think that’s good. Just wanted to know if he was nice or not. No need to fantasize about your client.”

He flinched. “I wasn’t!”

He was definitely not connecting the words “handsome” and “ghost” together in his mind. No way.

“He’s just a weird, dorky, little guy, okay?” He gave his best bitch face before relaxing into a more nicer look. “How’s the case going?”

“Slow. Dude’s brother has been in the hospital for a year in a coma, so we can’t exactly get his testimony or anything. There’s talks of the doctors trying to convince my client to take him off of life support since there’s no change in brain activity, but he’s said no to every one of them. Why he waited so long to build up a case, I have no idea. Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe he really needs the money to pay for the hospital fees.”

“It’s usually money, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“Why didn’t they put the guy who put him in a coma in jail?”

“There wasn’t any traffic cams in the area. It was late at night and the guy took off.”

“So how do you know that the guy being sued is the right one?”

Sam gave a devilish smirk. “Though there weren’t any traffic cams, there was a pretty shitty surveillance cam in the store that was located a few feet away from where the accident happened. It caught the vehicle crashing into my client’s brother’s car.”

“License plate?”

“Can’t see it. I sent it to Charlie. She's good at trying to make pictures a bit clearer, but she told me that it’s a long shot. I’m going through mechanics in the area to see if they have receipts of any repairs done during that time. I’m also trying to see if any used dealerships might have that car in their lots.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“More fun than construction.”

“You shut your mouth.”

“And who’s making 6 figures a year?”

“I can take holidays whenever I want”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Okay, fine.”

Feeling proud of himself, he wrapped up their conversation, citing some heavy research he needed to do, and then ended their call. He continued on with his research, called up some people, and then eventually headed to bed.

* * *

Dean arrived with a mug of coffee in his hands and a notebook filled with notes. Castiel appeared right in front of him, startling him so much he almost dropped his mug and notebook.

“Christ! Cas! Personal space?”

“Right, sorry.”

Castiel was maybe a little too excited to see Dean. Taking the entire night to conjure up memories was a difficult task, especially since he wasn’t even sure if those memories were correct. It felt so hazy to him, but he had enough for a good starting point. After taking a few breaths, Dean placed his coffee mug down.

“Is that coffee? I miss coffee.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty good.” He took a swig. “Maybe they’ll have some in Heaven, or whatever.”

“Whatever?” Castiel was curious what he meant.

“Don’t know if I believe in Heaven or Hell. Or God or religion for that matter”

“Understandable.”

“So.” He changed the subject in hopes of avoiding an awkward moment of explaining his lack of faith. “Did you remember anything?”

“Yes, I believe so. I may need a few more days to collect my thoughts completely, but I have some ideas for each room.”

“Great, tell me about this room. What do you see?”

That began Castiel’s narrative of the sitting room they were both in. He described in both vivid and vague details. When it all eventually came together and Dean had all his notes, he pulled out his phone and opened a very familiar app.

Dean showed him a picture on Pinterest that he remembered - yes, Dean used Pinterest. “So this is kinda what I’m getting.”

Castiel smiled and pointed at the phone. “Yes, exactly that. It’s almost as if that was the original.”

“Exactly? You know all the decor is from the 21st century, right?”

He examined the picture. “I don’t care. I like it a lot.”

He smiled softly at Castiel’s enthusiasm. Truth be told, it was damn cute how passionate and excited he was.

“Hey, random question, but when you’re not here, what do you do?”

“I’m always here,” he answered simply. “I just choose when I want people to see me.”

“And how do you do that?”

“I’m not sure. It’s as if there’s a switch that I can control.”

“Cool. Ghost mechanics.” He dorkily smiled. “Let’s go to the next room.”

They went through every single room, all the hallways, and staircases, and Castiel told Dean what he wanted. Strangely, there were a couple of room that he described that seemed to coincide exactly with what Dean had on his Pinterest board, but he chalked it up to the fact that Victorian decor had pretty similar elements at the end of the day. He ended up with pages and pages of notes and drawings. The sun began to set as he sat down at his table and wrote the last of Cas’ descriptions down. A thought sprang up.

“Hey, um, you don’t have to answer this if it’s hard for you, but would you tell me how you bit the dust?”

“Bit the dust?” He echoed.

“How you died, Cas.”

“Oh, um, it’s not much of a story. I actually memorized my obituary. Saw it in a newspaper one day.” He cleared his throat and closed his eyes. “The Newport Chronicles, January 10, 1893; Obituaries.” He opened his eyes. “That’s the newspaper it’s in.” He closed his eyes again, and that gave Dean the opportunity to subtly take a few notes. “Fatal Accident: On the sixth day of the New Year, a wooden beam struck Castiel J. Milton, son of Charles and Naomi Milton, in the head during the construction of his home on Everett Street. He died instantly. Aged 38 years. He was laid to rest beside his parents at the Common Burial Ground.”

“Dude. That sucks. At least you didn’t really experience any pain.”

Castiel began explaining that, yes, it was nice he didn’t feel anything, but he still was slightly embarrassed about his cause of death. He was an architect, a builder, and he was hit by the very thing that he was using to build his house.

Slightly towards the end of his story, Dean interrupted with a second thought that came charging into his mind, “Wow, I’m an idiot. Uh, sorry for interrupting.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.” Castiel reassured, a confused expression on his face.

“No, I’m actually an idiot and somehow still a contractor. I’m an idiot contractor.”

He was confused. “Dean?”

“Archives.” He smiled widely at him. “Archives!”

“Archives? What about them?”

“City hall has a bunch of archives on old homes, like this one. I’m sure if I asked around I could find the original floor plan or pictures. Then we don’t have to go off of your spotty memory.”

“That would be wonderful!” he responded enthusiastically.

“Don’t get your hopes up, though. A house this old, who knows if they still have your original plans.” He stood up. “It’s nearly 8 now. Too late to call up anyone, and no one works on the weekend. I’ll see if I can set up an appointment with someone at city hall on Monday or Tuesday. Otherwise, I guess I’ll see you in two days.”

“I look forward to it.” He nodded.

Castiel watched from the windows as Dean got into his black car and drove away into the night. What he proposed, and what he planned to do for Castiel, was unlike anything that he had hoped for. Sure, it wouldn’t _exactly_ be like how imagined the house, especially when Dean mentioned that all the materials used in 1893 were likely discontinued, but it would be close enough for him to be satisfied. When he mentioned the original blueprints, he tried not to get his hopes up, but he prayed and prayed through the night that someone would have it.

***

When he got home, Dean put his things on the table and sighed. He skimmed through his notebook, typed his notes into a blank document, and then printed them out. There were _a lot_ of things that needed to be done on top of Castiel’s requests. Speaking of him, Dean opened a new tab and Googled “Castiel Milton.” He was hoping that something would come up, but seeing as the dude died before the 20th century, there was little put up on the internet about him. Feeling too tired to really read anything past the 5th result, he cleared his search and looked up the number or email for either the city historian, archivist, or someone in the related field. When he noticed the time was way past office business hours, he made note of the number in his phone and placed a reminder to phone first thing on Monday. Finally, he closed his laptop, had a drink, and then went to bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean’s weekend was spent doing a little research on the house, but mostly relaxing in his condo and hanging out with his brother and Jess. He tried so hard not to spill the beans about Castiel, but it was easy to divert to the words “the client” or “the owner.” They talked about Sam’s case for a bit, Jess’ elementary kids she taught, and if they found out if she was having a boy or girl.

“We decided we wanted it to be a surprise.”

Dean looked affronted. “I’m supposed to choose between blue and pink onesies now?!”

“Ugh, how heteronormative of you.” Sam mocked. “There’s a million other colours you could buy.”

He laughed. “Maybe I’ll buy a yellow one.”

“Why yellow?” Jess asked.

“Matches my … uh, the house I’m working on.” Smooth move, Dean. “Yeah. You know, yellow house.”

“Why would we want to match to a house that isn’t yours?” He asked, an eyebrow raised.

“I don’t … nevermind. It’s a nice colour. Jesus.” He was losing his coolness and changed the subject. “Want another beer?”

* * *

Monday morning, he pulled out his phone and called the number for the city historian. Since she was off that Monday, he made an appointment with her assistant for the morning after. He took what he could get. When he arrived at the home, he let Castiel know of his plans.

They spent a better part of the morning going over Dean’s notes and what he could realistically do. He did another walkthrough with Cas and explained that there were some things he could do, some that were really expensive and preferred not to, and some that just wasn’t aesthetically pleasing for Dean, and they would go back and forth until they compromised.

When they walked down the hallway into the kitchen after having heated arguments over wooden and tiled floors, and whether Cas would mind if Dean took down the wall separating the dining and living rooms - _“No.”_ “ _Dude, there’s a giant hole in it.”_ “ _No.” -_ Dean stopped in his tracks when he noticed something odd.

There were two closets by the stairs, one sort of underneath them, and one beside on the adjacent wall. The one on the adjacent wall was a really strange size, about two feet wide with enough space for a couple of brooms, maybe. It was open, but what Dean noticed was that the wood used for the walls was slightly different than the other closet. Squeezing inside, he noticed that it was several degrees colder. Stepping into the other closet, it was the same temperature as the rest of the house. He went back into the weird closet and knocked on the walls. It made a hollow noise.

“What is it?” Castiel asked, leaning over Dean’s shoulder.

“Lemme grab my hammer.”

He grabbed it from the sitting room and went back into the closet. He carefully removed some of the nails off of a board closest to the ground and pried the plank out. He couldn’t see much of what was behind the wall, so he took his flashlight and shone it through the hole.

“Holy shit.” He said.

“What is it?”

Dean stood up. “Cas, you have a fireplace.”

Excitedly, he took down the rest of the closet walls knowing it wasn’t supporting anything. He then went back to the sitting room to the wall that was covering the fireplace. He made a quick list to check the integrity of the wall. He didn’t know when it was put up so he wanted to make sure that it wasn’t holding anything up or that it didn’t have any wiring, pipes, ducts, or gas lines in it. He was pretty sure it was just a decorative wall to hide the fireplace, but he didn’t want to take his chances.

First he checked to see if the wall was load-bearing or not. Usually he would call Benny for this, but he was more than able to check. Thankfully, it wasn’t. He took his hammer and in a nondescript spot, put a hole in it. With his flashlight he looked in the wall and saw no wires, no pipes, no ducts, and no gas lines. Perfect.

“Looks like we’re in business. Be right back.” He left to go grab a sledgehammer from his car.

He came back with mask and protective eyewear on and the sledgehammer in his right hand.

“Here we go.”

Taking careful and precise swings, he took the wall down. Wordlessly, he removed the wall studs, the floor plate, and the ceiling plate with his other tools. Not wanting to patch the ceiling where the wall was removed from, nor wanting to really fix the flooring just yet, he and Castiel stood around the drywall and wood.

“I could have taken down that wall a totally different way, but man, I love using that sledgehammer.” Dean took off the mask and smiled widely, putting his hands on his hips. “I don’t remember seeing anything in Benny’s report about a fireplace, so someone must have taken down the chimney when they put this wall up. Goddamn shame, too. Glad I found it.”

Castiel walked towards the fireplace that was now illuminated in sunlight. It was a beautiful cast iron piece. He wondered why he couldn’t remember it. He brushed the top of the shelf with his fingers, the dust remaining unmoved as he did so.

“She needs a bit of work, but I’m pretty sure we can get the chimney back up. I’ll call a gal I know. See what she can do.”

 ***

Dean stepped away to make a few calls, and Castiel continued to stare at the fireplace. He couldn’t believe how reasonable Dean was being (besides wanting to tear that living room wall down, but that’s besides the point). It was the nicest that he'd ever been treated. He would give him a hug, but that would expend too much energy. Plus, he wasn’t sure if he was the hugging type. When the call ended, he made his way back to him.

“I have someone set up to see if they can check out the chimney. If she can’t put the brickwork back up, we could convert the fireplace or just make it decorative. She’s coming in tomorrow.” He slipped his phone into this jeans. “I’m going to call it an early day. I don't want to do any more planning if there are secret rooms I don’t know about, and I'm sure you don’t want to hear me  make a billion calls to people.”

“I don’t mind. You make good company.” He said. “I have been alone for a while, after all.”

“Alright. You’ll probably get sick of my voice, but cool.” He dug his phone out again.

Dean began making call after calls, seeing if he could get the materials he wanted from certain suppliers, and making calls for people to come in. Castiel listened raptly, enjoying watching his expression change each time he spoke to people. He especially liked when he talked to people he was friends with - it was easy to tell, his eyes lit up and he smiled larger, creating the cute little crinkles at the corner of his eyes.

It seemed like hours went by when he finally hung up on his last call for the afternoon. His voice felt raw and he really wished he brought a water bottle - he didn’t think to, even when he knew there was no running water - and he also wished that he had a couch to sink into. Sadly, he had to settle for his little stool.

“Ugh.” He cleared his throat. “Tell me something about you, Cas. Anything. I don’t want to hear the sound of my voice for the next 12 hours.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Interests? What life was like in the 1800s. Did you have a family? Spouse?” He rambled on.

“I like …” He thought about it. “I like theatre and reading. I like architecture. I like … that vehicle you have.”

“Oh, yeah? It’s a 1967 Chevy Impala.” He perked up.

“It's nice. It’s loud and it makes an entrance.” He smiled before continuing. “No other family besides my parents, who passed away a while before I did. No spouse to speak of.”

“Well, I guess you didn’t leave any one behind, except for the house. If I died and left Sam alone, that would suck. I’d crawl my way back from the grave. Though, he does have Jess now, so he’d be fine.”

“I assume he’s your brother?”

“Yeah! He’s a lawyer. Super smart, and stupidly tall with long dumb hair. Jess is his wife, she teaches elementary kids, and she’s also pregnant with their first kid.”

“Congratulations. You’ll make a great uncle.”

He chuckled. “Thanks. I think I’ll be the cool uncle and spoil them with everything. Knowing Jess and Sam, that kid will never have junk food and never listen to the classics.”

“The classics?”

“Oh, probably not classics to you, but good ol’ fashion rock and roll. AC/DC, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Led Zeppelin, Kansas. That kinda music. I’ll bring a stereo in and we can listen. I’ll give you the best rock education you’ll ever have.”

“I think I would enjoy that.”

There was a lull in the conversation, so Dean asked another question he’d been dying to ask. “So you said you were always here, right? You just choose when to materialize out of thin air?”

“That is correct.”

“Are you just awake 24/7?”

“For the most part, yes. There are periods where I can, I suppose, rest. It makes time go faster.”

“What does resting feel like? Are you sleeping, or something?”

“It kind of feel like that. If I just stop and not think about anything, time seems to move faster.” He made an attempt to explain. “Those periods of rest kept me sane, for the most part.”

“Yeah. So the first time we showed up at your door ripping out shrubs and overgrown plants, you were here?”

“I was watching, yes. I was intrigued to see what you were doing to the yard. It was nice to see it cleared.”

“And the next few days?”

“I was here the entire time. Watching, listening. Hoping.”

“Hoping?”

“Hoping that this new contractor would want to try and restore the house in some way. I didn’t want it to go backwards.”

“So what was your deal with scaring all my people?”

Castiel was feeling slightly ashamed. “It didn’t look like you wanted to restore the house. You made all these notes on your blueprints that contradicted the original design. It seemed like you were going for different styles in each room, unsure about your overall theme for the house. I didn’t want to see that happen so I tried to stall construction for as long as I could, scaring everyone away hoping that you would give up and move on.

“It was pretty easy, since they worked alone and sometimes past the sunset. I do apologize for pushing your friend Benny to the point of injury that one day. That wasn’t my intention. I hope you can forgive my actions.”

“Apology accepted. So you just scare people, then, when things don’t go your way?”

“It sounds petty, but it’s true.” He sighed. “The vandals who trashed this house over the past year were the biggest nuisance, so scaring them was justifiable.”

"I'd probably do the same."

Dean took off shortly after that since he wanted to beat rush hour traffic, but promised to bring his collection of music the next day. Castiel remained forevermore in the house, now with increasing curiosity into rock music and if there were any other secret or hidden spots he forgot about.

* * *

It was a little too early and a little too bright when Dean made the trek into city hall the next morning. He wasn’t sure where to go, so he had someone take him to the right door. The historian’s assistant was nowhere to be found to let her know he arrived, so he knocked on the door. It opened only a few seconds later.

“Ah, you’re the boy that’s fixing up that house on Everett Street, aren’t cha?” Were the first words the city historian said to him.

“And you’re Ms. Moseley?”

“That I am. Missouri Moseley, town historian, at your service. Now what can I do for you, Mr. Winchester?” She shook his hand.

“I’m looking for some of the original blueprints for the house I’m working on. I know there aren’t a lot that were kept if they were turn of the century, but I was hoping that someone might have put it into archives.” He explained. “I already found a fireplace hidden behind a wall, so I want to see if there’s anything else I’m missing.”

“Of course.” She led him into her office.

He didn’t bother mentioning Castiel, but somehow, she already knew what he was thinking.

“You know, everyone kept saying that the house was haunted, but I never believed it for a second.” She said. “Please, have a seat.”

He held back a scoff. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

“No one ever died in that house,” she said simply. “I have records of deaths, too. Trust me.”

Now he was a little confused. “There are a bunch of stories of a ghost chasing out people.”

“It was never a ghost. The first owner … I forget his name …”

“Castiel?” Dean offered.

“No, it wasn’t that. Anyways, the first owner moved away after fifteen years living in that house. Found a fortune in steel. The 1920s hit, and the family that moved in next had three men sent to the war. The woman that lived there moved away when she learned her sons and husband died. The great depression had no one living in that house for a while, but Newport had its fair share of storms.There was the next war, and then finally people started to settle down in it, but it seemed like people would constantly be moving in and out.”

“Because of the ghost?” Dean suggested.

“No. Do you know why a lot of people bought that house in the first place?”

He shook his head.

“It’s why you did.” She nodded at him. “Wanting to buy something to fix it up. A big ol’ project.”

“Then why did people leave?”

She smiled softly. “There were many reasons, but the biggest one by far was the fact that no one could maintain the house.”

He was dumbstruck. “Seriously?”

“Most of the people that moved in there were young couples, young families, or older people, and it’s a fairly large house relative to the number of people living there. No one had the manpower or money to put into the house, except for small renovations, but eventually, they all got overwhelmed trying to fix or to go over the previous owner’s renovations while still maintaining the house. It was a strange cycle.”

He just stared at her.

“So in between the 1940s and ‘80s, gossip churned out and stories were whispered about a ghost that haunted the house that was kicking people out into the streets months after they moved in. It didn’t help that the house was so downtrodden by the time the last owners left, but now, we have you.”

“How do you know all this?”

“When you’re the town historian, you take note of why people are doing things and where they are going. With that house, it was always interesting to see what was happening.” Missouri turned to her computer screen and typed up a few things that he couldn’t see. “We have a bunch of floorplans saved into the archives for that house. At least five large scale renovations were planned since 1910, so we have all those blueprints for those. And … one picture! Let me see…” She typed a few more things into her computer. “Give me one second.” She got up from her desk and exited her office.

Dean was left to ponder what she just told him. It did make sense. But maybe, just maybe, she was wrong about a ghost. Her skepticism was too strong. After all, it wasn’t like he was hallucinating. Other people had seen Cas. A few minutes later she returned holding a very old tube.

“Here we are. The original blueprints. Now I can’t actually give them to you, but you may take pictures of it.”

“Pictures are fine.”

“I can send you the one picture of that house.”

“Sure, that’ll work.” He gave her his email address.

She carefully laid out the plans on the other cleared desk and she held them open as Dean took his pictures. He noticed something strange on the plans, but stored it in his brain to ask Cas about it later.

When he was finished, he shook her hand. “Thank you so much. This is really helpful.”

“You’re very welcome. Anytime you need me, just come and knock on my door.”

Later, he went back to his condo, printed out the pictures of the plan, and got to work in trying to reproduce them onto a set of fresh blueprints.

* * *

Lugging his old stereo, some cassettes, and the duplicates of the original plans into the house, he called for Castiel as he set it down on the table. He materialized in the doorway.

“Hello, Dean. How was your night?”

“Great, yours?”

“Same as ever.”

“Cool. The meeting with the historian went really well. She found the original set of plans and I took some pictures of it. Obviously, I wasn’t going to go based off of a phone picture, so I just recreated the markings and stuff on here.” He held up the roll. “You wanna take a look?”

“Of course.”

Dean unrolled the plan and stuck a couple weights in the corners to hold it down. Castiel examined it in detail, brushing his hands over the pencil markings. Dean watched as his expression changed minutely, and wondered if these plans were bringing up nostalgic memories.

“I am the lightest I’ve ever felt in years. You don’t know how happy this makes me.” He spoke softly, turning towards Dean.

“What do you mean, the lightest you ever felt?”

“It’s kind of hard to describe.” He thought of the right words. “When things change, I feel heavy here.” He placed his hand on his chest. “As if someone stuffed bricks into my chest and left them there. When something goes the way I want it, it’s as if the bricks are lifted away. When you said you would demolish the house, it felt as if an anvil was in my chest.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy.”

He let Castiel continue to take a look at it as he unrolled his current set of plans beside it. He didn’t have enough table space in his condo to compare, so he thought it best to do it now. He looked back and forth, particularly at the space where the fireplace was, and saw the discrepancy. He drew out the new area and looked for more spots that may have been off.

“Oh, right. Here’s the picture of the house!” He excitedly took out the picture he printed and put it on the table. “I really wish it was in colour, but you take what you can get.”

Castiel smiled widely at the picture. It was the house, in black and white, but it stood proudly finished and brand new in the Newport sun. The photo was pretty grainy, but the details on the Victorian house were unmistakably authentic. Dean remembered the little tidbit he wanted to ask Cas.

“So when I saw original document, I noticed something kinda weird on the plans. The thing is, your name isn’t on the original plans. Says some guy named Zachariah Adler built the place in 1899?”

Castiel was confused. “What? That makes no sense. I built this house in 1893.”

“They must have just mixed up your names? Or maybe this was the guy that finished building the house.”

“I don’t recall seeing him.” He furrowed his brow.

Castiel tried to remember who actually finished the house. He imagined Zachariah Adler as a tall man with thinning hair, but no solid image popped up.

“Maybe he stole your plans and just said he built it himself.” Dean pulled out his phone and absentmindedly handed it to Castiel while he placed some stuff down. “Here, if you wanna look at the originals.”

Castiel, using some of his energy, took the phone and navigated to get to the photos. Dean watched as he did this, wondering where he learned to work a cell phone. He even knew how to zoom in and out as he frowned at the pictures. He attributed this to his century-long ability to observe people with phones.

“This can’t be correct. Who the hell does Zachariah Adler think he is? This is infuriating.”

“Yeah, I get that. Wouldn’t want someone else’s name on my own work.” He took his phone back and shrugged. “Anyways, now that I’ve compared both sets of plans and we talked through everything, I think we can actually get started. Are you ready for this?”

“Most definitely.” He looked so sure and so excited, it made Dean feel the same.

“Great. I have a guy coming in to do the foundation first.” He hesitated. “Um, we should probably talk about your … uh … ghost-ness”

He chuckled. “I won’t be visible during this entire process. No one will be able to see me, but I will observe.”

“Okay, cool,” he said with a sigh of relief. “Don’t wanna scare anyone away.”

“Neither do I.”

* * *

Day 1 of construction began that afternoon with the foundation being fixed. What followed were more repairs and installations of various things around the house. They started with the utilities and Castiel observed Dean coordinate with the city, subcontractors, and fellow friends to help him. It took a little while to get the electrical, water, gas, and sewer services going, but once he did, Dean simply moved onto the next task: windows. Ellen and Jo, a mother-daughter duo, were Dean’s closest friends and his top choice for window installations. They perfected their working relationship to the point where they didn’t even need to talk to communicate. It seemed like they already knew what the other one was thinking.

Roofing was turning out to be harder than it should have, as it rained most of the time. Bobby and Rufus - Dean’s roofing and flooring guys - complained the entire time like the grumpy men that they were. They also had to work with the chimney repairer that Dean brought in from out of state. It took them a while to get the hole patched up, and a few beers at the end of the day to make sure they came back, but Dean would find them the next day working on the shingles. Castiel enjoyed listening to them bicker, and he was excited to hear they’d come back to do the floors, but he especially loved watching the chimney be repaired brick by brick.

While the roof was being set, Dean had a few hands setting up the HVAC. He wondered what Castiel was thinking about all of these modern devices, but the ghost kept true to his word and never became visible whenever there were others working in or on the house. At the end of each day, though, he would stay into the night to chat with Cas about the progress, and he delightfully recalled every moment that made him excited - the advanced air filtration, the brand new brick being laid for the chimney, and even the power tools.

On the days no one came in, he worked around the house with Castiel hovering over his shoulder. He’d play rock music constantly, and he listened with keen ears, sometimes mentioning when he liked a certain song. He always smiled when he caught Cas bobbing his head in time to the music. One day, he brought his laptop in with a really excited expression on his face.

“Hey, Cas!” He put it down and opened his files up. “Have you ever seen Lord of the Rings?” He realized how stupid that question sounded. “Of course you haven’t. Come, sit.”

Castiel stared at the laptop. “What’s this?”

“I feel bad leaving you at night with nothing to do, and I realized I get home too tired to even open my laptop, so here. This is a movie. I’ve loaded up the entire trilogy for you to watch tonight. I mean, if you want. You don’t have to watch them all.”

“I’d love to. It would definitely be better than having nothing to do for the rest of the night.”

“Perfect.”

The next morning, Castiel spent the entire day geeking over the trilogy. From then on, Dean spent every night loading up another movie or TV series for him to watch. By the end of it, he hoped that he would be the world's most cultured ghost.

When the house was ready enough to have lights installed, Dean called up his favourite electricians: Kevin and Charlie. They were both whizzes with anything electrical, and he trusted no one else to do that work. They were fast and amazing at doing repairs. Castiel enjoyed their company the most, so far, out of all the subcontractors that were hired. They were enthusiastic about their jobs, and really saw to it that Dean would never have any problems. He was weary about the solar panels that Kevin suggested, but after some convincing from Dean at the end of the night, Dean called to give him the go ahead.

Insulation was the next step and Dean did most of it by himself. There were only a few spots that needed new insulation, so it wasn’t difficult for him by any means. Because it was just them, they ended up conversing most of the time and getting to know each other better. Castiel’s memory was still a bit spotty, so Dean spoke plenty for the both of them, or they filled the air with more rock music. Sometimes, Castiel would bug him about other types of genres of music, and Dean would begrudgingly turn the radio on to the Top 40 station, but sing along under his breath. It was safe to say that they most definitely enjoyed each other’s company.

It wasn’t to say that everything was smooth sailing. The topic of the wall dividing the living room and dining room came up multiple times, wherein a decision was finally made after a shouting match. Dean seriously didn’t understand why Castiel wanted a wall that made the rooms look smaller, especially since it cost more to fix the hole, rather than knock it down. Castiel didn’t understand Dean’s obsession with smashing walls. They did eventually compromise, with Dean installing pocket doors in the middle of the wall where the hole was. Dean was able to knock down half the wall, while Castiel managed to use the doors as a way to divide both rooms for privacy.

Every so often, Dean would take a day off to catch up on errands, hang out with his brother, or have a friendly dinner with his neighbours Donna and Jody. The policewoman were very gracious, thanking him for being quiet and obeying city bylaws with construction. With Sam, they discussed construction, the lawsuit, or Jess’ pregnancy. It was during another brother hangout when he brought up the client/owner.

“So what’s it like working with him?” He asked, passing another beer bottle to Dean.

“He’s cool. I like him. He never understands any pop culture reference until I show him, has a wicked sense of humour, and for the most part totally loves what I’m doing to the house.”

He looked a bit confused. “Is he there all the time? I thought you hated clients visiting, especially after Crowley.”

“Crowley was just an annoying dickbag who had impossibly high standards and an unlimited amount of cash to burn through.” He groaned. “This guy is nice. He and I have the same vision, he likes rock music, and he likes Baby.”

“You must really like him.”

“Yeah, I just said that?”

“No.” He took a sip. “I mean, you must _really like_ him.”

He could feel his face turning red, and it was likely not from the third beer he was drinking. “Sh-shut up.”

“Oh my god, you _do._ ” He could see Sam’s face light up, ready to tease the hell out of his older brother.

Not wanting to face the reality of the fact that he may have a crush on a _ghost_ , he decided it was probably best to steer the conversation in a very dramatic way.

“I bought the house.” He blurted out loud.

That definitely put a halt to whatever Sam was just about to say. “What are you talking about?”

“There is no other client. I made him up.” A white lie, but better than, “The client is a ghost.”

“Wait, hold on.” He put his beer bottle down. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “I saw the house being auctioned off and I bought it.”

“Why? I thought you liked your condo.”

“I do but there’s not enough space.”

“Enough space for what?” He knew that his brother was egging him on to reveal his true intentions.

He groaned. “I want to start a family, okay. I want my kids to have a yard to play in, and a house to grow up in. Nothing like our childhood.”

He was quiet for a few moments. “I didn’t know you were thinking about this.”

“Yeah, well you can thank Jess and yourself for that.”

Realization hit him, and he nodded. “Does anyone else know?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

He rolled his eyes. “How is it embarrassing? You want to settle down. People do that.”

“It doesn’t matter. When I invite everyone to the housewarming, then they’ll find out it’s my place.”

He shrugged. “Alright.”

It was enough for Sam to move off of the “client.” Dean was surprised that he didn’t even bother to ask about it, especially considering how much detail he went into describing Castiel. He didn’t dwell on it long. They moved onto Sam’s case and his constant trials and tribulations in getting evidence and trying to identify the driver, and also trying to fight the doctors from pulling the plug. He complained to Dean that his client should have come to him right after the accident, but Dean was sympathetic to the man’s situation.

“If you were in a coma, I wouldn’t go straight into finding a lawyer. I’d be by your bedside everyday hoping you’d wake up.” He explained. “I’d keep you company whether you want it or not.”

His brother’s expression softened, and it looked like he was going to say something similar, but Dean interrupted.

“Okay, no need to get all soft here. Save it for your future kid.” He put a stop to the sentimentality.

Sam teased a grin. “Save it for yours.”


	7. Chapter 7

With the knowledge that the house belonged to Dean, Sam became insistent on helping out in any way possible. He didn’t understand why he wanted to add more to his plate, but he accepted the help - siding was his least favourite part of construction, so the faster he could finish it the better. He went out to find a specialized paint that matched the exact colour that was used in the 19th century, minus all the hazardous chemicals.

They first worked on scrubbing, scraping, and feathering peeled areas of the siding and trim. After replacing a couple of rotten boards, they began the arduous process of painting the house. They stuck with the siding first, leaving any window frames/lintels/sills, porch, and railings for now - most of it would have to be replaced anyways. The yellow was vibrant against both the aging and new wood, but it was a beautiful colour. It seemed to pull out memories from him. It made him think of what could have been - a normal childhood in a bright and sunny kitchen, baking with his mother; and what could be - chasing his kids around the house, sharing kisses with his spouse in the living room. Yeah, he quite liked the yellow.

Under the cover of grey skies, he garnered more help to paint. He had his neighbours Jody and Donna help out, alongside Benny, Ellen, and Jo. Surprisingly, Meg and Ruby came out to help out for a couple of days, but he learned they only wanted to ogle Sam, for the most part.

The first week or so he wasn’t able to talk to Castiel whatsoever. With Sam or someone else coming in early some days to work, or having to drive someone home afterwards, there was no time to have a conversation. He eventually insisted on painting the last few bits by himself, giving him a chance to talk to the ghost.

***

“Hey, it’s just me,” he called out when he was inside.

Castiel immediately popped up with a very wide grin on his face. For the past couple of weeks he watched with rapt attention as the siding was painted. He stood outside observing the two brothers, sometimes eavesdropping on their conversations. Watching them interact tugged on his heartstrings, and he had this strange nostalgic pull towards having a sibling. Besides that he loved that the house was being painted such an eye-catching colour.

“I love it,” he exclaimed.

“Oh, good.” Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “I wasn’t sure. We haven’t really talked much. I wanted to update you with a couple of things. I have a lady, Hannah, she’s a woodworker and apparently one of the best at restorations. I sent her the picture of the house, so she’s going to try and recreate the railings and other window details.”

“Wonderful.”

“Yeah, I also have some paint swatches for you to look at.” He grabbed his swatch package out and placed it on the table. “We’re getting closer to painting the walls. That is, unless you wanted to wallpaper it?”

“I prefer paint.” He looked at them.

He chose a dark grey for the sitting room and dining room; a light blue for the hallways, bedrooms, and living room; and a lighter yellow for the kitchen and bathrooms. Dean even let him choose the oil stain for the flooring and porch.

“Okay, I’ll grab the cans sometime soon. Rufus and Bobby are coming back to do the floors in the next couple of days. I’m going to let them do their thing in the morning, since I trust them completely with the job, and I’ll come back in the afternoon to help finish. Is that okay?”

“Since you trust them, I will trust them as well.”

“I don’t know how you guys did flooring back in the day, but we’re gonna leave the floors a bit after installation before we sand and stain.”

“Understandable.”

“So for my weird question of the day …” Castiel liked when he prefaced his questions with that statement, as they usually turned into strange questions about his ghost-like qualities.

“When you walk around, are you applying any weight on things?” He wondered. “I’m only asking because when we do the floorings, it’s best not to walk on it for a few days.”

“The floors will be perfectly fine. I don't exert a force on anything. At least, I don’t think I do.”

“But you _can_ touch things, real, physical things. I saw you.” He pointed out. “I mean, you pushed Benny out the door, you held my phone, you were able to write things on my first set of blueprints …”

Castiel interrupted his train of thought. “Yes, but that is conscious effort on my part. Touching things takes up a lot of... energy, I suppose would be the word.”

“Cosmic energy?”

“I’m not sure, but when I touch things or move things, and whatnot, it takes a lot out of me if I do it for long periods of time.” To demonstrate, he flipped the page of swatches over. “If I expend enough energy, something happens and I disappear into this void of sorts. When I have enough energy, I seem to return to this normal state, though I wouldn’t call being dead as normal. Flipping that page doesn't require too much energy on my part since I can use gravity to my advantage, so it won’t affect too much in the long run. Typing in a new show or movie to watch does, however, since I need to physically press down on something.”

What he was telling him was absolutely fascinating, but Dean didn’t really know how to respond to it. “Weird.”

“I have to be particular when I want to handle something since the energy, or lack thereof, eventually compounds. If I’m gone too long …”

Dean finished his sentence for him. “Someone could demolish this place under your nose and you would have no one to scare away.”

“Exactly.”

“So.” Dean hesitated. “In that state of being where _you_ can move and touch things, does that mean _I_ could, um, feel you?”

Truthfully, he expected Castiel to laugh at that question, but all he did was tilt his head in curiosity. “I don’t know. Let’s see.”

Castiel scooched closer to him, planting himself just inches away. He raised his hand and placed it gently on Dean’s cheek. He felt Castiel’s cold hand against his skin. There was a slow and dull pulsating feel to the touch, as if a million electric bolts were firing out of his hand. Somehow, there was a gentle steady beat to it, even as his hand laid there for a few moments. His thumb caressed Dean’s bottom lip, making him shiver and giving him goosebumps.

“I can’t feel you.” He dropped his hand from his face, feeling dejected.

“What do you mean?” He asked quietly.

“I should feel stubble, the warmth of your skin, or the curve of your lip, but I feel nothing.” He raised his hands, looking at both of them and shaking his head. “It feels like I’m wearing thick gloves. I can’t feel anything specific. What do you feel?”

“Cold, like air, but, like, tingly air.” He laughed at himself. “Look at me waxing poetic.”

Castiel just smiled gently.

He tried to rephrase his description. “Do you remember the feeling of your leg falling asleep? That weird static feeling and it hurts to really move it?” Castiel nodded in response. “It’s kinda like that, but gentler? And then underneath all that, there’s this weird dull throb.”

They were still inches away from each other, and both of them were given the chance to really take each other’s appearances in. Neither really wanted to separate from each other just yet.

“Where’d you get that scar on your upper eyebrow?”

Cas touched it absentmindedly and his brows furrowed. “I can’t remember. How did you get that scar on your chin?”

“I was drunk, jumped on a planter, lost my footing and split my chin.” He chuckled. “Idiot move.”

Castiel took in the sight of him and felt lightness and warmth in his chest. It was the indescribable feeling of adoration and attraction. He accidentally blurted out, “I wish we knew each other when I was alive.”

He glanced down, a smile on his lips. “Yeah, me too. Did you have many friends?”

“Me? Not quite. I was always very quiet. My lack of romantic relationships also left me a bit isolated in social groups.” He pulled away from him, giving him his personal space back.

“Not one for dating?”

“I, er, I.” He wasn’t sure how to proceed. “I wasn’t particularly fond of relationships … with women.” Castiel waited for the disgusted reaction, but none came.

“That’s cool.” He shrugged. “I myself like ‘em both. Guys and gals.”

The way he managed to say it so openly made him wonder if times had changed in regards to relationships between the same genders.

“Did you ever date guys back then?” Dean questioned.

“One or two. It was always ever done in secret, since same-sex intimacy was considered a crime.” He sighed. “It eventually became impossible to keep up appearances. Attraction has always been what I’ve known from then on. I otherwise never acted on anything out of fear of being criminalized.”

He felt pity for the man and anger for the rules. “I’m sorry. No one should have to go through that.”

“I suppose if you can talk about your preferences so openly that things have changed for the better?”

“I mean.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I guess so? There’s still a long way to go, though. This world ain’t about total acceptance for the community just yet.”

He nodded in response.

“So, um.” Dean cleared his throat. “I’m gonna get back to.” He motioned to the outside with his thumb. “Siding.”

Awkwardly making his leave, he could feel Castiel’s eyes watching him. When he was outside, he took a peek through one of the windows and saw him sitting and watching something on his laptop.

“He likes dudes. That’s cool,” he spoke softly to himself and then realized where his thought process was heading towards. “Shut up, Dean. You can’t date a ghost. A ghost that’s gay. A dead gay guy.”

He couldn’t deny his attraction to the man, especially after getting to know him nearly every single day since their first real conversation, but there was no way that he could ever pursue anything. He bought the house with the intention of settling down and starting a family. How could he possibly do that with a ghost? It gave him a headache just thinking about it.

***

Castiel put on a movie to watch while Dean finished painting the rest of the siding, but was barely paying attention to what was on the screen. He’d never opened up to anyone about his past struggles with relationships. He wasn’t even sure if that conversation was successful or not, going by how Dean stiffly made his way out the door. One thing was for sure - he liked Dean. He was his first real friend and possibly the first person not scared of him. Of course, there were multiple things that drew him to the man, but his kindness and acceptance were two big ones. He had a beautiful soul, there was no denying that, but like he had said to him, attraction was the only thing he ever knew, and though he wouldn’t be criminalized for pursuing anything now, it was simply fear that stopped him. 


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days were like clockwork - Bobby and Rufus would arrive to do the floors in the morning (and they’d bicker or silently work), and Dean would join later in the afternoon. They laid the new wooden floors down and while they waited for the floors to acclimatize, they tiled the kitchen and bathrooms. When everything was finally settled and eventually sanded, they were ready to paint the walls. There wasn’t much to the actual painting. It was labour intensive, but otherwise a pretty relaxing task for Dean.

Painting meant that they were past the halfway mark for construction. It was during this time that Castiel felt something different. He was accustomed to the constant changes of heaviness and lightness he felt when something either went his way or didn’t, but this new sensation was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Dean could read his face easily.

“What, do you not like the colour?” He held the paint roller steady, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Something’s changed.” Castiel responded cryptically while also holding his chest.

“What do you mean?” The smile dropped and concern filled his eyes.

He clenched and unclenched his fists. “I feel this pull.”

“Pull to what?”

“I don’t know.” He took a few moments to gather the words. “It feels like I’m a piece of metal and a magnet is in the vicinity. My whole body wants to go there.”

Dean went straight to his assumptions. “Pull to the other side?”

He looked up at him in worry. “I don’t know. This has never happened to me. Let me try something.”

He closed his eyes and tried to relinquish control. He evened out his breathing and tried to think of nothing.

“Cas!” Dean’s voice had a faraway sound to it, but it still snapped him to attention. Somehow, he ended on the other side of the room from him. “What was that? You were, like, flying!”

“I-I just let go of control and let that pull take me.” He looked around. “I-I’m not sure what’s going on.”

Dean pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Oh, good. Ash. Dean Winchester. Do you remember me? House on Everett street? Guy with the Impala.”

Castiel could hear an enthusiastic shout coming from the phone.

“Yeah, hi. So I have a question for you. The ghost, Castiel, told me he started to feel this weird pull. He closed his eyes and, like, slid across the room without actually moving his feet. Okay, mhmm, right. Nope. Okay. Thanks.” He hung up.

“What’d he say?”

“To paraphrase, we’ve finished half of the construction.” He explained. “Half of your unfinished business is, well, finished. Ash thinks that because of this, you’re starting to get pulled to ‘the other side.’ Right now, you’re able to avoid crossing. He thinks that once we finish, you’ll feel a pull so strong it’s unavoidable. That, or you’ll just fade away.”

“That does not sound ominous whatsoever.” He deadpanned.

“Dude.” He looked excited. “It means you won’t be stuck here forever! It means we’re going in the right direction!”

He supposed that was true, but only managed a half hearted attempt at a smile.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. I thought I’d be more happy to hear this.”

In reality, he knew why he wasn’t as excited. He had a lot of time to think of what would happen when it came to succumbing to the eventual pull, or, as Dean puts it, “crossing over to the other side.” He was absolutely terrified. No one knows what happens exactly, and he felt uneasy not knowing. He hated the idea of not existing anymore. With the house, at least he could cling to some part of him. He kept his fear to himself. Perhaps by the end of construction, he wouldn’t be afraid.

***

The rest of painting went by smoothly, especially since Dean had help. Hannah arrived in the middle of it with her reconstructed railings and window detailings. It was a hefty price to pay, but after looking at her craftsmanship, he decided it was worth it. He made sure they were the right colour and tint before installing them in their prospective spots.

His to-do list of construction tasks were slowly dwindling down. It came to the point that after painting the finals coats, he could install the baseboards, his kitchen appliances, hook up the gas, water, and electrical lines, and finish any HVAC systems. The house was coming together quite spectacularly, and both Dean and Castiel couldn’t have been happier. It took them nearly six months of renovations, restorations, and construction, but they did it. The house was more or less back to its original design. Castiel could kiss Dean right now.

“Alright bud, time to order some furniture. What’d you want?” He asked with a satisfied grin on his face.

Castiel looked away.

“What’s up?”

“I have to admit. I … I was intending to hire a decorator when I finished the house. I don’t have the creative eye for furnishing,” he revealed.

He chuckled. “Neither do I. I was going to do the same thing. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, you can offer your suggestions and I’ll relay them. I'll find an interior decorator that specializes in Victorian decor.”

“That sounds a lot better than just blindly telling you what I want and hoping it matched the aesthetic.”

“Alright, I’ll make some calls.”

* * *

Dean had a meeting with an interior designer later that afternoon. She apparently heard of his endeavours of redoing the Victorian house and was hoping that she’d get a call from him for her specialized services. He invited her to come see the house and she readily accepted. Castiel was already invisible but anxiously waiting for her arrival. Dean didn’t say much, though Castiel was certain that even the contractor wasn’t sure what to expect. Earlier, they prepared a list of design ideas they wanted and Dean was now holding it in his hands.

A knock on the door told them she was here. Dean opened the door and greeted the red-haired lady.

“Rowena. Hello.” He shook her hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“Ooh, it’s no problem,” she spoke in a thick Scottish accent. “I’m quite excited to see what you've done with the place.”

“Right, come in.” He led her past the arched entryway.

She wriggled her nose a bit - it still strongly smelled of paint, after all - but took a good look around when he gave her a tour.

“Will I get to meet this elusive client I’ve been hearing about?” She asked out of the blue.

“Elusive client?” He narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. If she knew about Castiel or the ghost story, that was one thing, but if she was hearing things around town from people that worked on the house, that was another.

“Yes, the man who purchased the house? I assumed he would be here to discuss what he wanted?”

“Oh, uh, that's me.” He embarrassingly raised his hand. “That’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone.”

She smirked evilly. “Mums the word. So, Dean, what did you want for _your_ house?”

“I have a list of things.” He handed her the list.

She made some approving and disapproving sounds as she made her way down, looked at the corresponding pictures stapled to the piece of paper, and nodded when she finished.

“I can see that you’re going for the more modern Victorian look,” she enunciated. “You also have a couple of historical pieces you’d like to fit into the design?”

“Yes, these ones.” He flipped to the last page.

“Perfect. If you want to give me some colour swatches, measurements of each room, and your budget, I can get to work on this straight away.” She placed the list in her bag as he got the requested items. “It should take me a couple of weeks to get things together, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

When she departed, Castiel reappeared with a weird expression on his face. Dean caught it and asked what was wrong.

“She looks familiar to me, but I don’t know why.”

“Unless she’s an immortal witch or something, I don’t see how she’d be familiar to you.” He shrugged. “But she’s supposedly the best in Victorian houses. Maybe she came and visited this place before I bought it and you saw her?”

“Possibly,” he said with a faraway quality to his voice.

“So are you excited?” He decided to change the topic. “We’re almost there!”

That seemed to snap him back to reality. “Yes, incredibly so. I haven’t properly thanked you yet for your willingness to go above and beyond with this house. It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Save your thanks for now, we’re not done yet.” He blushed.

“Still,” he continued anyways. “I have never met anyone like you - so dedicated to your craft, so willing to go with the flow. You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. It’s truly been a pleasure working with you.”

He just blushed harder, unable to respond. He muttered a soft thanks.

“I don’t think I ever asked, or ever heard, but why did you buy this house in the first place?”

He was careful not to lean on the walls while he spoke, but he felt especially vulnerable in front of him while relating his hopes of raising a family in the house. Castiel listened on with a stilled expression on his face as he spoke animatedly about his future.

* * *

Castiel observed silently as Dean and his crew put in the baseboards and hooked up the various utility lines. He couldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams that in less than half a year he’d see his house as it was before, albeit with some modern conveniences. Everyday the pull became stronger and stronger and it was getting difficult not to succumb to it. He would occasionally toe the line of releasing a bit of control to feel the euphoria of the pull - it felt like waking up from a dream, but the fact of the matter was that he simply did not want to leave, not even when the house was completed.

He felt possessive of the house, sure, but his unwillingness to go was based on the fact that he didn’t want to leave Dean. It was selfish to think that Dean wanted him to stay, and that he might reciprocate his feelings, but at the end of the day, he was a ghost who was overstaying his welcome and Dean was the new homeowner.

Dean took a vacation after they installed the last of the appliances, and that gave Castiel time to think. He walked the familiar halls, now freshly painted and with new flooring, and contemplated. Did he really want to go? Did he even have a choice at the end? Would he be alright with him staying? Could he bare to think that if Dean _was_ attracted to him, that he would never be able to be physically intimate with him? The man wanted to start a family. That was impossible in his state.

He forlornly sighed. His attraction to Dean gradually built up and it became even more prominent in his mind the longer he spent in his company. He wasn’t lying when he said he wished he met him when he was still alive, but he wished more than ever that he was alive now - the promises of raising children, being able to kiss and touch the man, and growing old with him were dashed knowing that it could never be.

Feeling continually weighed down by these conflicting and depressing thoughts, he decided it was time for a break from his current state. He needed to find a way to exhaust the rest of his energy. There wasn’t much lying around that he could physically handle, but he did find Dean’s spiral notebook and pens. He sat down and picked up a pen and began sketching. He sketched a portrait of Dean, first, and then one of himself. He sketched the house, the trees, the night sky. It still wasn’t quite enough to leave the physical plane, even as the sun began to rise. He knew the best way to use up the rest of his energy was to become emotional. Tapping the pen against the notebook, he began to write.

He journaled everything he could remember, starting from the very first day construction started. He filled the pages with mentions of Dean - everything from his work ethic, to how his eyes shone brilliantly under the sunshine, to how he so desperately wished he was alive to just feel the warmth of his skin. It somehow ended up becoming a letter to Dean, and he signed it for posterity’s sake. He ripped all the pages out - his words and sketches - and folded them. He didn’t want anyone to see it, so he needed to find a hiding spot. Looking around, he came upon the fireplace and thought how ironic that he was going to hide something in something that’s been hidden for so long. Taking some painter’s tape, he taped the papers behind the facing. If Dean ever wanted to use the fireplace, the papers would go up in smoke, and that would be perfectly fine with him. It served its purpose. Feeling drained, he let himself be pulled out of the existing plane and into the void. He closed his eyes and rested, letting the silence envelop.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Dean took some time alone for a mini vacation. He went on a short road trip to Boston to check out some stores that had Victorian accent pieces, watch a baseball game, and visit the Samuel Adams brewery. He still had a few days to relax before his meeting with Rowena, so he spent it with Sam and Jess. She was in her third trimester, and it would only be two months before a baby would pop right out.

Things were coming up faster than he expected. He put his condo on the market at a price that would essentially take care of all the costs he spent on his house, plus a little bit of profit. He still hadn’t told _any_ of his friends that the house they were working on was his, but he was nevertheless excited to send out some housewarming invites. He was less excited for the inevitable and confused questions that came with the invites, like, “why didn’t you tell us it was your house?” He had a few weeks to work out a few answers.

One question that still lingered in his mind was: “what’s going to happen with Castiel?” There was no doubt that he _liked_ him, but it was selfish to ask him to stay. After all, the pull was getting stronger, or so he told him, which meant it would take astronomical effort to avoid the inevitable by the end of it, or at least that’s what Ash said. Even though he was a ghost, he still cared a lot for him, more than anyone else he didn’t consider to be close family. In his heart, he didn’t want to see him go.

 

* * *

Rowena’s office was located close to the tail end of the Cliff Walk, so it was a fairly scenic drive for Dean. She was sipping on some tea when he walked into her office. It was furnished the way he was expecting: Victorian, but a tad too extravagant for his tastes.

“Dean, I think you’ll be very satisfied with what I’ve chosen for you,” she said by way of introduction. “Would you like some tea, dearie?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” He took a seat.

She began to show him her selections for the house. Even from the few pictures that Dean gave her, she managed to find pieces to completely furnish the house in the style that he and Castiel wanted. He was thoroughly impressed with her work and got her to place orders straightaway. He especially wanted the kitchen cabinetry, bathroom, and bedroom furnishings to arrive as soon as possible and paid a premium price to make sure.

He began to pack away his things in his condo. He sold the things that he felt didn’t fit with the Victorian aesthetic, kept the more sentimental objects, and left a few things as a gift to the new owners, whoever they may be. When he did go through his possessions, he went through them with Castiel’s opinions in mind. It was funny to think that a ghost had so much influence upon what Dean chose to bring with him.

Moving in with a ghost was not what he expected when he first purchased the home, but then again, he didn’t expect a lot of things. He didn’t expect to like hanging out with Castiel as much as he did, even after their rocky start, and he certainly didn’t expect to find himself slowly falling for the man. There was literally no one like him. The lack of pop culture knowledge, his weird vernacular, and the way he didn’t understand personal space were all things people would find annoying, and yet, he found incredibly adorable. He avoided thinking about the fact that their relationship, whether he liked it or not, essentially had an expiration date.

He began to move some boxes into the house after his meeting with Rowena - ones with his clothes, some toiletries, some pots and pans, and food. He didn’t have anywhere to unpack them, so he left them in their boxes as he tried out cooking in his kitchen for the first time. He realized about 5 minutes into boiling a pot that Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey, Cas?” He called out, but there was no response. He tried again. “Anyone home?”

Again, no response. He walked to another room and tried once more, but he would not appear. He anxiously bit his lip and tried to focus on cooking. He told himself it was fine, he wasn’t _gone._ Maybe he was just outside. Still, the worst began to creep into the recesses of his mind. Could he have accidentally let go and crossed over? Dean rationalized that he wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, and yet ...

“Cas!” He yelled out and looked around frantically.

He was starting to freak out. The silence was deafening.

“Come on, where are you?” He went outside and called for him, but again, no response.

Rushing back into the house, he saw a mess of black hair in his peripheral vision crossing from the living room to the sitting room.

“Cas!” He ran over to him.

Castiel stopped and turned around. “Oh, hello, Dean. I didn’t realize you’d be back so soon.”

He was a bit breathless. “Where were you?”

“What do you mean?” He tilted his head to the side.

“I’ve been calling for you for the last 20 minutes. I thought you might have left, like, for good,” he explained.

He looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. I used up all my energy and I was resting. I’d just recently … awoken.”

“Jeez, Cas.” He fought the urge to put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“I’ll try not to.”

* * *

“These cabinets are gorgeous!” Jody was admiring them and helping install at the same time.

“Thanks. Can’t say I made the choice all by myself, though.” He smiled at her. “I hired this great interior designer. She really knew her stuff.”

He did have to hand it to Rowena. The antique white raised panel cabinets combined with the black granite countertops and pale yellow walls created such a welcoming atmosphere. It was sleek, yet still within the Victorian aesthetic. He couldn’t wait to fully utilize his kitchen.

“I did tell you that Donna and I are coming to your housewarming, right?” She asked as she tightened a screw.

“Yep.” He grabbed the list he made. “Checked you two off right here.”

Jody took a look at his list and whistled. “Lots of people.”

“Mostly other contracting friends. They helped build the house without knowing it was mine.”

She raised a brow. “And how did you manage to keep that a secret?”

“Told them that the owner gave me free reign with the changes. They seemed to believe me.” He chuckled. “It’s going to be one big surprise for them to find out it was me who bought it.”

“Huh, no wonder the invite was so cryptic. Didn’t even list your name.” She closed the cabinet door. “Well, if you need help setting up, let me know. I have a bunch of days saved up.”

“That’s nice of you, Jody.”

She waved him off. “I still can’t believe you managed to restore this house. It’s actually incredible.”

“Thanks. I can’t wait to fill the rest of the house with stuff. It’s so empty right now.”

“What do you have coming?”

“I have a bunch of furniture coming over the next couple of days, so lots of setting up there. I have light fixtures coming in tomorrow, rugs on Thursday, bathroom things today, and I think that’s about it. I still have to move some of my things from my condo over here, too, but that’s low priority right now. Rowena, the interior decorator, is coming in to help position everything in place,” he explained. “Oh! And I have doors coming in last, just so I don’t have to deal with propping anything open, scratches, or hitting door knobs when I move everything around.”

“Busy man.”

“You’re telling me.”

***

Listening to Dean explain what was happening over the next couple of weeks was making Castiel a little nervous. The house was almost done. As excited as he was, he was dreading the day where he was going to have to say his goodbyes. He wouldn’t express these concerns to Dean, though, even after Jody Mills left for her work shift. They just gabbed on about other superficial things until it was time for Dean to leave.

* * *

“I can’t believe this is it,” Sam spoke while holding a couple of Dean’s boxes.

“I know.” He looked around the mostly empty living room in his condo. “It’s been a good 5 years in this place. Bye, condo.”

Dean closed the door behind them, effectively ending a chapter in his life. He stuffed the boxes into his and Sam’s vehicles and then gave him the spare key. There were a few things he would leave at Sam’s for now, and some that he could take to his new home. They finished assembling all the furniture for his bedroom, office, dining room, living room and kitchen, but were waiting on some of the soft furnishings and other decor to arrive. He would unpack his things in the meantime.

Besides Castiel, Rowena seemed to be a constant presence. She was there telling furniture handlers where to go and set things down, and passive aggressively telling him how things should look when he offered a different opinion. It kind of irked him, but he deferred to her wisdom. After all, he was just the contractor.

He was so excited when he was able to set up his entertainment system in the living room. Really, all he needed was a couch, his TV, and a DVD player and he was in business. It was slightly strange not going back to his condo, but it meant more time to actually hang out with Castiel. They did have to set a few ground rules the first night that Dean slept in his new house. He caught Cas watching over him when he awoke in the middle of the night. He nearly fell out of bed when he saw a dark, shadowy figure just standing over him.

And so the days consisted of Dean and Rowena moving furniture around and dealing with decorating, but the evenings consisted of dinner, movies, or board games with Cas. It was hard for Dean not to see him as a real person with an actual body, and the number of times he had to fight the urge to put his arm around Castiel’s shoulders while watching TV was too embarrassing for him to even think about. It didn’t help that they sat really close, either.

There was one evening, however, that he was so exhausted, that in the middle of watching a movie he absentmindedly draped his arm over Castiel’s shoulder. He was surprised to feel contact - the cold, tingling sensation ran across his arm - but was more surprised to see Castiel leaning into it. Knowing him, he had to make a conscious effort to be felt. Dean realized he wanted to be closer to him. He wasn’t sure if he should be overthinking what was happening, so he just let it happen.

It became more frequent, though, Dean reaching out - whether he realized it or not - and continuing to make contact with Castiel. An arm touch here, a shoulder bump there. He was simply afraid that he’d forget he wasn’t a paranormal entity and accidentally get way more intimate than he wanted.

Castiel was eating it up. He thrived on every single “touch” even if it felt like he was wearing layers upon layers of clothing on every inch of his body. He’d watch as Dean became more comfortable with reaching out that he focused a lot of his energy on trying to be solid for longer periods of time. It did drain him, so every night he would rest and try and return in the morning.

It became a routine for the two - a domestic, couple-y routine - and neither of them said a word about it. The words “ghost boyfriend” popped up in Dean’s head a few too many times, but he didn’t dare talk to Cas about it. As much as they’d both love to avoid a conversation about their _feelings_ , things were bound to come to a head when the last of the decorations were put up, all the furniture was in its spots, and all that was left to do was to put the doors on their hinges.

One by one, Dean installed the doors. He gleefully did a little happy dance when he put the pocket doors on, sliding them a couple times because he could. Castiel tried to look happy, but the pull felt monumentally strong every time a door was put in the frame that he might have just looked ill, but he had to seriously fight against the urge to let go.

The office door was the last one to be put up. No words had yet to be exchanged. Dean fumbled with his tools and Castiel could tell he was stalling based off of his previous effortless installations. This was it, after all. The door would go on and Castiel’s unfinished business would be finished. He’d cross the void and they would never see each other again.

“Wait,” Castiel heard himself say.

“What?” Dean looked at him, hopeful.

“Don’t put it up.”

“Why not?”

There was a long pause before he spoke, “Do the movies you watch ever tell you what ghosts feel?”

“No, not really. Movies say they don’t feel much. They’re usually out to haunt people most of the time.” He leaned the door against the wall and stood up. “Why?”

“As soon as I realized I was here, I was scared.” He sighed. “Scared that someone might demolish this place and that I’d never see it finished. I was scared I would spend the rest of eternity in this spot, aimlessly wondering what could have been. But now …”

“You’re not scared.”

“I still am.”

He looked at him in confusion.”Why? We’re almost done. This is the last of it.”

Castiel looked away. “Once you install the door, I’ll be gone. That’s a terrifying thought.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted? You said it yourself that as soon as the house is completed, you can finally leave.”

“I know, but …”

Dean looked at him, but fiddled with his tools. “You don’t want to leave, do you?”

“No.” He continued to look elsewhere, but Dean wished for more. “I don’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s selfish.”

“What’s selfish?”

Castiel remained silent.

“Cas, you gotta talk to me, man.”

“Do you want me to go?” He asked, dejected.

“No! Yes! No, I don’t know,” he replied a little too forcefully. “Cas, you’ve been here for a century and you’ve suffered enough. I want you to be happy, at peace. That’s what I want. I don’t want you to fight this thing that’s pulling you away.”

He looked him in the eyes and resolutely spoke, “I want to stay.”

Maybe he looked a little too excited, but he didn’t care. “Why?”

“Because I don’t know what’s going to happen when I leave. It is the uncertainty of it that I never could fathom. Would I go to Heaven? Or elsewhere? You said it yourself that you didn’t know if you believed in Heaven or Hell. I don’t want to stop existing.” He took a breath. “Here, this is … This is _our_ home and I know with certainty what’s happening here.”

He looked at him expectantly. 

“What’s happening here?”

“I have feelings for you, Dean Winchester, and maybe you feel the same for me. I’d stay for you.”

He didn’t know what to say. He knew he felt the same, but he just couldn’t say it back.

“Why? Why would you stay here?”

“Why not? Why would I want to leave? Everything I could possibly need is here.”

“Cas, think about it. I’ll live and eventually die. That’s probably another 60 years staying in this house. You’ll go insane.”

“I’ve spent 124 years here. What’s another 60?”

“You’d stay with me? Why?”

Somehow, as a ghost, he blushed. “I don’t want to live without you.”

He felt butterflies in his stomach, but tried to play it off coolly. “That is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He sighed. “If you don’t feel the same, or you feel uncomfortable, then please install the door and I will leave. I know you wanted to start a family, and I understand that it’d be impossible to do so with me here.”

“It’s not impossible.” He furrowed his brow. “Nothing’s impossible.”

“I don’t want you to change your dream for my sake.”

“You of all people should know that things can change, and yeah, sometimes things don’t follow the original plan. Buying a house and wanting to start a family was the plan, sure, but then you came along. Things change.”

“I can’t let you give that up, Dean. It’s too big.”

“Not your decision.” He stood his ground. “You said you wanted to stay, so stay. I want you to. I don’t want you to go, especially not after we got to know each other, and you’re right I do like you, Cas. I like you a lot, and maybe I should have told you sooner, but I was so sure that you wanted to go. I guess I was wrong about that. So will you stay?”

“Yes.” He smiled slowly. “I’ll stay.”


	10. Chapter 10

There were two words to describe Castiel and Dean’s relationship once they had _the talk_ : unsure footing. They still weren’t sure what they were to each other. Boyfriends? Partners? Romantic friends? Roommates? Were they even dating? They each confirmed that they had feelings for each other, but it wasn’t really amounting to anything exclusive. Whatever they were, it was new and unfamiliar territory for both of them and traditional relationship rituals - introducing family, meeting friends, etc. - were things that they couldn’t follow. Both men agreed that it would be very difficult to explain who Castiel was, so introducing him to Sam, and anyone else for that matter, was out of the question. They were jumping into this relationship fairly blind.

Dean kept up his touches, even if Castiel couldn’t really feel them. Lines were not crossed when it came to other forms of intimacy. Dean needed a while to get use to being in a romantic relationship with a ghost, so they kept things PG. To be honest, he was too embarrassed to try anything, and felt self conscious when he wanted more. Mostly, Castiel would sometimes join him in bed, “falling asleep” beside him. It was hard avoiding the urge to cuddle knowing he wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy it.

Otherwise, things went on normally up until the housewarming. He was anxious to reveal that he was the owner, but he was excited to finally show off his home. During the party, Castiel remained invisible, but mingled around the crowd, observing and listening in on conversations.

Dean clinked his glass. They were all mostly in the dining room/living room area (the pocket doors were open so he could see everyone through to the kitchen). “Hi everyone, I just wanted to thank you all for coming to this housewarming. I would like to introduce the owner to all of you. He is very grateful to all of your guys’ help and is very impressed with all the work done.” He turned towards the stairs as if the owner would be walking down, and everyone followed suit, waiting for the supposed owner to make his way down.

When no one did, they turned to look at him, with some whispering about where the owner was. He laughed. “I have another announcement to make. I’m actually the owner of this house. Surprise!”

There were some bursts of laughter, cheers, and eye rolls from his friends, but he began to explain why he took on the project, but didn’t explain his desire to start a family. He thanked everyone again for their help, and resumed mingling and chatting with everyone.

***

Castiel watched from his spot. He sorely wished he could interact with someone, but he knew it was a terrible idea. Watching everyone chat, having fun, and eating made him feel horribly isolated. He was in a packed room full of people and he still felt so incredibly alone and like a stranger in his own home. The pull felt stronger. It wanted to take him away from this.

He tried to ground himself, fighting against the pull. He dreamt himself being alive again and introducing himself to these people. He made up conversations with his “neighbours” and standing beside Dean, proudly looking on. He imagined explaining who he was and his job to his friends and coworkers. He fancied chatting up Sam and Jess, maybe talking about his childhood that, for some reason, he couldn’t remember.

The pull ebbed a bit when he noticed that he couldn’t recollect any memories of his childhood when he imagined a make-believe conversation with Dean’s brother. He felt blocked, unable to recall anything of his past. He couldn’t quite remember his parents - how they looked or how they sounded - but could drop their names easily in conversation. Feeling disconnected to his past coupled with the isolation at the party made him feel like he didn’t know who he was.

He couldn’t escape from feeling that way, but he could leave the crowded room. Opting for the bedroom-turned-office, he tried to distract himself. There weren’t many things in the room: a bunch of construction related things, his computer, an empty bookshelf, and some pictures. He sat down at his desk, imagining himself as Dean.

Dean, the enigmatic contractor who everyone liked. Funny, talkative, caring, and has a kind soul. Mid thirties, tall, with a semi-muscular physique. Has a brother named Sam and a pregnant sister-in-law named Jess. Drives a 1967 Chevrolet Impala and loves rock and roll. Loves pie. Went to four schools over the course of his rocky childhood. Has lived in Newport for the last six years.

He could easily come up with Dean’s background, even going so far as to picturing him as a youth, and yet he still couldn’t drum up one memory from his own childhood. Something was wrong, he knew that now. His memories were fading away from him, and whatever grasp he had on his past was slipping past his fingers.

* * *

It was a couple of days after Dean’s housewarming when he approached Dean. Dean noticed that his ghost was acting strangely since the housewarming, but he didn’t want to ask. He knew Castiel would approach him eventually - he was direct like that.

“I have a slightly strange request for you.” Castiel was nervous.

“Sure?”

“That historian you went to see … do you think she’d have information on me?”

He never thought about that. “I’m not sure. It’s worth a try. Why do you ask?”

“I feel like I’m forgetting who I was. I’ve noticed that my memories have been fading, especially with the increasing pull,” he responded rather sullenly. “I keep forgetting things of my past and bits and pieces of myself as the pull becomes stronger. I thought that perhaps with time I’d remember, but it seems to have the opposite effect. If the historian could pull some things, articles, pictures, anything, it might help to restore what I’d forgotten. It’d be nice to know who I was back then.”

“Sure. I can head down there right now.” He got up with a sense of urgency.

“If it’s no trouble. You don’t need to head there right away.”

“Nah, you’ve got me curious about your past too. I tried searching you up before, but that didn’t go as planned.”

It was a very short walk to city hall. When he arrived at her door, his fist hovered a few inches away from it, hesitant if he should knock. He realized coming unannounced probably wasn't the best idea. Maybe he should have called first...

He heard her response from the other side. “Come in, Dean.”

“How’d you know it was me?” He opened the door and saw that she hadn’t even taken her eyes off her computer screen.

“I’m psychic.”

He glared at her. He wasn’t sure if he should believe that.

“Your boots sound really heavy against the floor. It was the same pair you wore when you first visited.” She looked up at him. “Did you need help with anything?”

“Yeah, um, could you search up people in your archives? Like, their history and all that?” He decided to clarify. “A dead person.”

“I could give it a shot. Something always pops up.”

“Alright. His name is Castiel Milton.” He also spelled it out for her. “Parents were … Naomi and Charles Milton, I think.”

“I have a Naomi and Charles Milton, but no Castiel. No listed children under their names.” She furrowed her brow at the computer screen. “Do you have a date range? That would narrow it down.”

“1893?”

She searched again, but she shook her head. Nothing came up. “Anything else you could give me?”

“Um, there should be an obituary in the Newport Chronicles with his …”

“The Newport Chronicles?” She looked at him, puzzled.

“Yeah, I’m guessing it’s a newspaper or something …”

She interrupted him again. “Newport has never had a newspaper or periodical called that.”

“Are you sure?”

She gave him the “boy, who do you think I am?” look.

“Maybe I got it wrong,” he muttered to himself.

“If you know what cemetary this man is buried at, perhaps you’ll find your answers there.” She suggested. “They keep fairly accurate records, too.”

He remembered Castiel mentioned being buried beside his parents at the Common Burial Ground. He walked the very short walk over to the cemetery and into the entrance building. He gave the cemetery manager Castiel’s name, but it didn’t turn up anything. She explained that there were some missing gravestones, which might have been the reason. Instead of leaving, he gave the names of Castiel’s parents and she was able to give the location of their gravestones.

It was a bit of walk, but he arrived at Naomi and Charles Milton’s headstones, which were in okay condition, but didn’t see Castiel’s gravestone anywhere. He did specify that he was buried beside his parents and was certain of this fact, but what he was seeing - or, rather, not seeing - was proving otherwise. Dean took a picture of his parents' headstones and the neighbouring ones before walking back to the house.

He tried to have a neutral expression on his face when he walked inside, but he wasn’t good enough at masking his confusion. Castiel picked up on it immediately.

“How did it go?” He asked.

Dean sat down, not really sure where to start. He took a few moments to gather his thoughts.

“There was nothing in her database that told me who you were, so I gave her the newspaper name. The Newport Chronicles, right? That what’s you said. You said I would find your obituary there.”

“That is correct.”

“Um, Cas?” He started slowly. “The Newport Chronicles doesn’t exist. The city historian told me so."

He tilted his head in confusion.

“She told me to go to the cemetery you were buried at to find you since they would have accurate records of people there and I only found your parents. The cemetery manager told me they don’t have a ‘Castiel Milton’ buried in their lots.”

“That’s not true! I’m buried beside them!”

“Look.” He pulled out his phones and showed the pictures of the gravestones to him. “I don’t know what to tell you. I think it’s just bad record keeping. The 19th century didn’t have databases like we have now.”

Even with that reason, Castiel was heartbroken. “So there’s no record of me, anywhere?”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked away. “I don’t know who I am.”

Even though he hadn’t succumbed to the pull and disappeared forever, his fear of not existing still came true, and his attempts to recover any of his past self were gone. It hurt to see he had no legacy. He felt weighed down. The look Dean was giving him didn’t help either, so he slunk away by becoming invisible.

“Cas?” He remarked, concerned.

He didn’t reappear, so Dean called out once more. “Please talk to me.”

It took a few moments, but he became visible again and Dean used that opportunity to hold his cold, tingly hand. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

He was surprised at the hold, but all his emotions spilled out of him. “Hurt, anger, sadness. It sucks, to be frank. I hate this feeling of not remembering. Imagine trying to picture your parents, but being unable to remember their voices or how they looked. It’s frustrating.”

He responded quietly, “I don’t have to imagine.”

Castiel’s attention turned to him. “What?”

“I lost my mom when I was four. I lost my dad ten years ago.” He spoke relatively calmly. “I don’t remember much of them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’re entitled to your past and all the memories from it. I wish I could help you, I really do, so what do you need? What can I do?” He really wanted to help in any way possible.

He looked away for a moment, pondering, but responded, “I don’t know if you can. It’s something that’s just a part of me. My stupid brain doesn’t want to recall memories.”

He pursed his lips trying to come up with something viable. “I’ll keep digging. The internet always finds things. Charlie, the red headed electrician, is a part time hacker slash computer whiz. Maybe she can find something we can’t.”

“I appreciate that Dean, but I don’t want to trouble you or your friend.”

He shook his head, laughing softly to himself. “Cas, sometimes I’m just going to do things because I want you to be happy. Nothing I do for you will ever trouble me. Just, please don’t disappear when you have trouble remembering, or whatever. Talk to me. We’ll figure it out together.” He tightened his hold on Cas’ hand.

He stepped forward, lightly pressing his lips to Dean’s cheek. Dean felt the tingle linger for a few beats. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean set out on his next project: finding out who Castiel was. After a few days of finding nothing, he called Charlie up and asked her if she could do some digging for him. He didn’t explain the full situation, but told her that he wanted some information on the first owner of the house. She let him know she’d get on it right away, but only after the electrician conference she was attending finished.

He was close to asking Sam for help, but didn’t want him digging too much into his own reasons for the request, so he didn’t bother approaching his brother, even if the kid was a whiz at research. Besides, Sam nearly witnessed him talking to Cas when Sam did something monumentally dumb.

There was one day where Dean was out at the library doing some research on Cas. There wasn’t much in the way of articles or books for him to look through, but he found a few things on his parents. It wasn’t enough to really paint a broad picture of who Cas was, but he supposed it was a starting point for him and Charlie. When he returned home, he could hear someone was inside the house making a little bit of noise. It was either Sam or Benny.

“Hey, Dean!” It was Sam. “I’m upstairs.”

“What are you doing upstairs?” He made his way up the stairs as he balanced his notebook and mail.

He came upon his brother crouched down against the door frame and immediately dropped what he was holding.

“I just quickly put the door up. I kept tripping over it, and people kept asking me during your housewarming why you didn’t put this door up.”

“Shit.” His eyes widened as he raced to his brother. “Take it down. Take it down!”

Sam stood up quickly and went on the defensive. “What?”

“Shit. Cas?!” He yelled and then raced downstairs. “Cas!”

It was the most harrowing three seconds of his life, but he let out the biggest sigh of relief soon after.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel appeared from behind him.

“Oh, thank god.” He took in a deep breath. “Where were you?”

“Outside watching the bees.” He tilted his head. “Is there something wrong?”

“Dean!” Sam’s footsteps were loud against the staircase. Castiel disappeared as soon as he was in view. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, looking elsewhere and not really controlling how suspicious his behaviour was. “Nevermind.”

“Who’s Cas?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at him.

“Uh, what are you doing here anyways?” He decided to change the topic.

His brother responded that he was dropping off the last of the things he left at Sam’s house. He put them in Dean’s room when he kept tripping on the door that was leaning against the entryway to his office. Since he was in no rush, he grabbed some of his tools and put the door up.

“Oh… uh, thanks.” He looked down.

“You’re welcome.” He could tell that Sam was still suspicious of him. “I’ll be going now, then. Gotta pick up Jess. I’ll see you later.”

Trying to be normal, Dehean said goodbye to his brother and walked him to the front door. When Sam was finally gone, Castiel reappeared, visibly confused at hearing what he said.

“I thought you were gone, like, for good.” Dean breathed out.

“I … I didn’t realize Sam was here. If I had I would have stopped him, but I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

“Why aren’t you, you know, gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you still feel that pull? Is it gone?” He wasn’t sure if he was ready for whatever answer he was about to give him.

He still answered honestly. “It’s still there. Still with the same intensity.”

“Do you still feel light, or weightless, or whatever?”

“Yes. Immeasurably so.”

“Do you think you still have unfinished business?”

“I’m not sure. If I did, I don’t think the pull would be this strong.”

“I don’t get it. I thought you would be gone.” They looked at each other, confused, but Dean more so. “I’m glad you’re not, but …”

“I guess there is no real burst of white light that swallows you whole.” Castiel smiled. “It was a bit of an unsettling image. Perhaps, I do get a say in the matter of leaving.”

“That’s good, yeah. Real good.” He shook his head and laughed. “Wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Anyways.” He coughed and changed the topic. “Found some stuff on your parents.”

That caught his interest. “And?”

“Give me a second. I left my notebook upstairs when I freaked out and thought you were gone.” He hurried up the staircase to retrieve his book and then returned downstairs.

“Charles Milton owned a general store. Naomi was essentially a homemaker. They were well liked. Lived on the other side of Newport.” He recalled from his notebook. “That was about it.”

Castiel looked dejected. “Sounds about right, but is that it?”

“I’m sure when Charlie is done with her conference, she’ll find more.” He placed his hand on his arm. Strangely, the dull throbbing that he could feel underneath the tingling had become stronger.

“What is it?”

“Have you ever … touched yourself?” He realized how stupid that sounded, so he tried again. “Like, have you ever just tried to …” He motioned putting his hand on his arm.

Castiel repeated the motion. “What about it?”

“You don’t feel anything?”

“No. Again, it feels like wearing gloves. What is it?”

“I don’t know, it’s just I feel this weird throb. Maybe it’s just me.” He shrugged and walked to the kitchen.

Castiel tried to feel his skin again to get the sensation that Dean was feeling. He pressed down hard, but felt nothing out of the ordinary. He joined Dean in the kitchen.

* * *

A little later that evening, when they were seated in front of the television discussing the merits of reality television, Dean received a call. It was Sam.

“Hey, um, are you busy right now?” He sounded very strange.

“No. What’s up?”

“Um, can you meet me at the hospital?” It sounded like he was outside.

Alarm bells immediately went off. “Sam, are you okay? What happened?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Did Jess’ water break?” He tried another option.

“No!” He said a little too quickly. “It has nothing to do with that. Can you just meet me here?”

He sighed. “Okay? You gonna tell me why?”

“It’s best if I show you.”

He was very, very suspicious. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re not in any danger?”

“Dude, just … you need to see this. Meet me by the 7th floor elevators, okay?”

“Fine, whatever.” He hung up his phone.

“Sam?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah. He sounded weird. I’m pretty sure Jess is having her baby though and he’s trying to get the jump on me.” He smiled excitedly and stood up. “He wants me to go there right now.”

Castiel returned the smile. “Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

He drove to the hospital in a bit of a rush, especially if Jess just had their kid. Sam was terrible at lying to him, especially with how fast he denied Jess giving birth. He wondered if he should have stopped to get a balloon or teddy bear. He got to the 7th floor, not paying attention to any of the signs, and saw his brother waiting for him with an incredibly worried expression on his face.

“Dude, what’s with your face?” He walked straight to him. “Shouldn’t I be congratulating you?”

“With what?” He gave him a terribly confused expression.

“You’re telling me Jess didn’t push a mini version of you out of her body?”

“No. She’s due next week. Just follow me.” He led him down a hallway, then another hallway until they stood in front of a door. He knocked and then turned the handle.

Dean followed his brother in, still perplexed at what he was doing at the hospital if he didn’t have a niece or nephew to greet, but once he saw who was in the bed, he stopped in his tracks. His eyes were glued to the man.

It was Cas.

It was a splitting image of him, down to the very tiny scar on his upper eyebrow.

“What the hell is going on? Is this some sick joke?” He spit out.

Sam went pale. “Oh, god, it’s true, then.”

Dean hadn’t noticed the man sitting, now standing, beside Castiel’s body.

“Hi, I’m Gabriel.” He smiled and put his hand out to shake.

He was in too much shock to even shake the man’s hand.

His legs were giving out on him, but Gabriel managed to guide him into a chair before his legs buckled. “What the fuck. What THE FUCK?”

“Yeah, I think we’re all feeling that right now,” Gabriel spoke.

Sam still hadn’t said anything, but Dean angrily looked at his brother, pointed at him and shouted. “Explain!”

That seemed to shock Sam back to reality, but he ended up explaining a little too quickly. “Okay, so you know how I was in your house earlier and I put that door up. When I left, I realized that I left my phone charger in your house and I needed it, so I turned back and went up to your door when I heard you talking to someone. You were acting really weird earlier, so I just went around to the side window and saw you talking to this guy in really weird clothes, but there was something off about him. I couldn’t really see through the curtains so I went to another window.

“He was translucent. I could literally see through him. I could see your dumb flannel through him. I just couldn’t see his face since his back was towards me. I wasn’t sure if I was just imagining things because of the stress of the lawsuit, so I looked away for what was the longest five minutes of my life, and then looked back and you were still talking to him. And then you left for whatever reason and he just vanished. Like, totally gone. It took me a good second to realize I should have taken a picture, so I got my phone out, and in that time I guess you came back, and so did the ghost. This time, I got a good look of the guy’s face. I realized I recognized him from somewhere. I didn’t know where, but I did.

“I didn’t know what to do, so of course, I started to freak out. There was a ghost in your house, a ghost that you’re apparently cool with. I took a picture and hoofed it out of there. I still had to pick up Jess. I don’t even remember going to the school to grab her. I think I was in shock, but somehow, I brought her home and went to go meet up with Gabriel. We were supposed to meet at the hospital to meet with the attending doctor. We stepped into this room and the moment I saw his face, I realized I've seen him before.

“The ghost I saw was him.” He motioned to Castiel’s body. “There’s a picture of him in the files, and I’ve seen him in the hospital a couple of times, but it took me a while to even make the connection. It should have been impossible. I explained to Gabriel what was going on and he didn’t believe me, of course, until I showed him the picture on my phone. I convinced him to come to your house. You guys were just chilling on the couch watching TV, but when Gabe saw him, he had the same reaction. We didn’t know what to do so we came back here.”

“Is that when you called me?”

Sam nodded.

“I don’t understand…” Dean began, but changed his train of thought. “Okay, yes, there’s a ghost in my house and yeah, I guess you did see him, but then who the hell is that? And who the hell are you? How are you connected to all of this?" He pointedly looked at Gabriel.

“I’m Sam’s current client,” he responded. “And let me formally introduce you to my brother, James Castiel Novak.”

“I need to, um.” Dean gestured at the door with his thumb. “Water.”

The other two men joined him at the water fountain. Sam was trying to explain that the lawsuit he took all those months ago, the one he fed little details to Dean by keeping names anonymous, was apparently connected to his ghost. Sam’s client’s brother that was in a coma was Cas. They were in the midst of another battle of keeping Castiel on life support. When he finished taking a drink, he sat down in a chair. His ears were ringing and he felt a strange buzz in his head. Apparently, Gabriel had said something.

“What?” He asked. “Sorry, I tuned out.”

“Castiel is a method actor.”

He gave him a blank look.

“Gets way too much into character. Eats, breathes, sleeps as if he was the character. You know, like Jared Leto in Suicide Squad.”

“Didn’t watch it.”

Gabriel shook his head. “He was dabbling in playwriting when the accident happened. He was coming back to our shared apartment from the theatre he was working in when that son of a bitch slammed into him. He’s been in a coma since then.”

“We’re sure it’s the same guy, right?” Even Sam doubted himself a moment.

“Unmistakably.”

Dean wracked his head around this information, trying to connect the dots, but only finding more questions popping up.

“James Castiel Novak?”

“Legal name. Goes by Castiel, though.”

“Cas told me he goes by Castiel Milton.”

“Character name for his Victorian themed play. I have his first page of the script if you wanna see it. He probably found the last name in a cemetery or something. He gets inspiration for names off of dead people, which is really creepy, by the way.”

“The ghost is dressed in Victorian clothing.”

“Again, method acting. He was wearing a costume when he was writing his play to get into the mindset. The emergency responders found him wearing it.”

Slowly but surely, things began to make sense. It explained why he found blueprints that said the house was built by someone else (because Cas never built it), the missing headstone beside Charles and Naomi Milton (because he was never a Milton, nor lived in 1800s), why the Newport Chronicles doesn’t exist (it was made up for Castiel’s play), why historian Missouri had absolutely no information on him (because he was STILL ALIVE), and why Castiel felt he had no memories of his past (there were no memories for him to have).

“So what is he doing in my house?” He croaked.

“I honestly have no idea. I knew he visited it for inspiration, but I don’t know why he’s, um, stuck there.” Gabriel took a breath. “Is he … is he pretending to be a ghost from the Victorian age?”

Dean nodded.

“He told me a bunch of stuff that sounded true, but I guess it was just his method acting, or whatever. I followed up on a bunch of it, with none of them really matching, but I always thought it was because of bad record keeping. I tried to dig into who he was, but nothing ever came up.”

“Does he … does he know he’s not dead?” Sam jumped in.

“No. He doesn’t. He really believes he died in 1893.”

“That’s not good.”

“He’s memorized his obituary,” Dean added.

“His obituary?” Sam asked while Gabriel started to dig out something from his messenger bag.

“Does it sound something like this?” He began to read, “The Newport Chronicles, January 10, 1893. Obituaries. Fatal accident: on the sixth day of the New Year…”

“Yep, exactly.” Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. “Let me see that.”

It was the first page draft to Castiel’s play. He’d come up with a character description for himself, since he was apparently going to star in it as well, and other characters. He’d written down a description of the house that his character was going to live in, and it matched up to the house on Everett Street. It even had Rowena’s contact info, since he apparently hired her to be a set design consultant. It didn’t look like Castiel had gotten very far into developing his play, since there wasn’t even a summary or outline of the plot. He must have been hit by the car before he could do so. He gave the script back to Gabriel. There was silence between all three.

“What do we do now?” Dean asked.

Sam and Gabriel shared a look. Dean obviously noticed. “What.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen Castiel at the hospital. The case never needed me to be here since I correspond with Gabriel at my office or his house.”

“So?” He didn’t know where this was going.

“I’m here because I now have to fight one of Castiel’s doctors basically campaigning to take him off life support.” He sighed. “We have days at best before the doctor brings it up to the hospital’s medical board. Since Castiel’s status hasn’t changed, it’s likely the doctor will have his way.”

“I remember you told me about this, but I didn’t realize it was this extreme. Can he even do that? Is that even legal?”

“There’s a weird loophole that allows this to happen.” Gabriel shook his head. “I apparently don’t get a say in it anymore.”

“So we have to get Cas to wake up ASAP.”

They both nodded.

“I think I need to tell him the truth. He deserves to know,” Dean offered.

“Yeah, but then what? It’s not like we can put him back in his body just like that.”

Dean remembered something - the pull. “Maybe we can.”

“How?”

“Cas kept describing this feeling of being pulled to something. We kept thinking it meant he was getting pulled to the other side, or whatever, but maybe it’s not. Maybe he’s getting pulled to his body? I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Let me call someone.” He took out his phone and dialed a number. “Ash, hey. It’s Dean. I have a question …”

Dean went back inside Castiel’s room to talk to Ash - he didn’t exactly want to be seen by nurses and doctors asking about ghosts, and returning spirits to bodies.

“You know when you came to my house to deal with the dead guy? Well the guy’s still alive. He’s in a coma. I don’t know what Cas is, but he ain’t a ghost.” He began.

“That makes sense. It did seem a little off when I visited.”

He shook his head. “So the pull. Could it be that he wants to go back to his body?”

“Can’t know for sure, I’ve only ever dealt with real ghosts, but it’s very likely. If you tell him to give in to the pull, he should return to his body and wake up.”

“Should?”

“I’ve never dealt with coma patients who somehow projected their consciousness into the physical plane. This is above my pay grade, dude.”

“Alright. Thanks, anyways.” He hung up the phone and placed it in his pocket.

He neared Castiel’s bed. He looked peaceful as he slept, even with the breathing tube and various wires and tubes connected to his body. It still didn’t quite set in that Castiel was a real, living person just inches away from him. There was such a strange disconnect in knowing that the person laying down in that bed was also somehow in his house watching TV.

“Hey.” Sam stuck his head in the room. “Any news?”

He turned away from Castiel’s body and returned to where Sam and Gabriel were. “I have a plan.”


	11. Chapter 11

The sun was just starting to set when he returned to the house. He took a deep breath in and went over the plan repeatedly in his head. Unlike what he previously thought, he didn’t have much time with Cas after all, especially if the doctors wanted to take him off life support. He still couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Okay, here we go.” He opened the door and made his way to the living room entrance, standing there and observing Cas. He was still in the same position.

“So, boy or girl?” Castiel stood.

“Uh, neither. Jess didn’t go into labour. She wasn’t there actually.” There was a nervous tremble in his voice and Castiel easily picked it up.

“Is Sam okay?” He neared him.

“Yeah, he’s fine.”

“So the trip to the hospital was for what purpose?”

He thought to himself, “just tell him. Tell him he’s alive and in a coma.”

For some reason, he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t usually beat around the bush, but this was too big to just say out loud.

“I want to try something.”

“Alright?”

“Have you ever tried to leave the house? Past this block?”

He thought about it and realized he never did. “Well, no. I’ve always protected this house and I’ve never done otherwise, so I don’t know if I can.”

“Can we try it out?”

“What if people see?”

“It won’t matter.”

“Alright.” He shrugged.

They walked outside together and down a block where he parked his car. Seeing as this was the first time that Castiel left the Victorian home, he excitedly looked around at the brand new surroundings.

“This is amazing!” He grinned widely at him, but Dean had a very strange expression on his face.

“Come on, we’re going on a field trip.”

He led him to the Impala. He got in without needing to open the door. He started his car and began the drive to the hospital. They didn’t say a single word to each other on route with Castiel taking in everything he was seeing, and Dean too afraid that he’d blurt out what was really happening. Castiel had no idea where they were going, but was happy to even sit in the Impala.

They eventually ended up at the hospital, but Castiel didn’t really care as to the reason why. He was so busy taking in everything that he didn’t bother to stop and thinking as to why he was there. No one seemed to notice him - everyone was too preoccupied with their own business to notice the strangely dressed semi-translucent man. When they were at the correct floor, Dean stopped in front of one of the doors, and he finally asked why they were there. Dean simply opened the door and motioned him in. He walked in and saw who was on the bed.

“What is this?” He turned to look at Dean.

“That’s you,” he responded quietly.

“What do you mean?” He frantically looked at him, searching for answers that Dean wasn’t giving quick enough.

“Your name is James Castiel Novak. You were born on July 10, 1973. Your brother, Gabriel Novak, hired my brother to sue the guy who put you in this coma. You were in a car accident,” He explained.

Suddenly and without warning, all the memories of the crash flooded into Castiel’s brain. He could remember it vividly - the pain and the emotions - and it overwhelmed him so much that he had to shut his eyes. It was like he was reliving that night and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Soon, memories of his life before the accident began to make its way into his head. He could remember his childhood, his brother, his family. He remembered everything.

* * *

_**The Night of the Accident** _

_It was almost midnight when Castiel put his pen down. He was trying to brainstorm ideas for his play. Being a playwright was harder than he thought, and he was hoping that his experience as an actor would help him in some way. The only help he got from his acting training was envisioning his character. He knew he wanted to play a Victorian man - since he had the costume - but he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted his play to be about._

_Over the course of the day, he developed a few more characters, but still no plot. Looking at the time, he realized how late it was, but found that it was a good opportunity to visit the house on Everett Street. No one would be there so late at night, nor would anyone care that he was trespassing - he’d done it a couple of times before to get some set design and setting inspiration. Every time he’d gone there, he wished that someone would buy it and restore it, but he knew the chances of that were slim, especially considering how run down it was. He even heard rumors of it being haunted, but he didn’t believe in ghosts._

_Deciding that visiting was the best course of action, Castiel packed up his stuff, texted Gabriel and told him he’d be home a little later than he thought, got into his car, and started to drive to the yellow Victorian house. He was five minutes away when a drunk driver plowed into him._

_The crash was so hard it caused Castiel to swerve, hit the curb, and then roll over a couple of times into an almost empty parking lot. He hit a few cars, which prompted a few car alarms to go off. The initial impact knocked him unconscious, so he didn’t feel the pain from the airbags or the glass and metal embedded in his body. At the sound of the car alarms, a few people managed to rush over to Castiel when they saw the overturned car. An ambulance was called and he was sent to the hospital in critical condition._

* * *

 “Hey, hey.” Dean crouched down beside Castiel, who was now crouched on the floor. “Are you okay?”

He opened his eyes. “No. I don’t understand what’s happening.” Dean gave him a couple minutes to compose his thoughts. “If that’s me, why am I this?”

“You are a coma patient who, I guess, is just really, really stubborn. You somehow projected your consciousness outwards so that it looks like you’re a ghost.” He used Ash’s words.

He found Castiel’s medical files, opened them, and put them on a nearby table for him to read. He approached the table and began to read. He learned about the extent of his injuries and how long he’d been in the hospital.

“How’d you find me here?” He slunk down onto a chair.

“It was Sam. Gabriel hired him to represent you, I guess. I didn't know until today.” Dean pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. “Do you remember anything?”

He uttered, “Yes, I remember who I am. I remember the accident.”

“You mean, you remember the real you?”

Defeated, he replied, “Yes.”

Dean tried to drum up some excitement. “Isn’t that good? You remember who you are!”

He sighed wistfully. “I think I prefer the person you know me as - the Victorian architect.”

“But that’s not you.”

“I wish it were. He’s more interesting.” He shook his head. “This is why I became an actor. To be someone I’m not so I can avoid my boring life.”

“Cas.” He placed his hand overtop Castiel's. “You know what you are? You’re alive, and that’s so, so good. Look, you need to let go and just let the pull take you. It’ll bring you back to your body.”

He looked at Dean, confused. “What? How do you know?”

“Ash told me.”

“Are you certain?”

He couldn’t lie. “Well, no, but …”

“I can’t.”

“What? Why not?”

He provided no reason, and that irked Dean to no end.

“You know what was the first thing I did when I finally believed you were real? I googled ‘how to get rid of a ghost’ and you know what it told me to do? To literally ask you to leave,” Dean explained. “So I’m telling you to go. You’re alive. You’re not dead. That pull is telling you to go back to your body.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Cas, you said the pull has become consistently stronger. You’re fighting yourself from waking up!”

“You can’t know that for sure. You can’t. How could you possibly be so sure? What if I just die? We don’t know that the pull is dragging me towards my body, or towards death, Dean. It says in my file that my brain activity hasn’t changed. That’s not good. I’m in a,” he looked at the file again for the right words and continued, “persistent coma. I don’t even know if I’m even connected to my body anymore.”

He huffed in frustration. He wanted to use the fact that the doctors wanted to take him off life support as leverage to get him to change his mind, but he knew that wasn’t the right way to go about it, at least, not yet. “Turn around.”

“What?”

“Just, turn around. Let me try something.”

He turned away from his body and looked at the various cards that were decorating his table. Before he could properly look at them, he felt a warm tingle in his hand. He turned back around to look at Dean.

“You felt that, didn’t you? See, you’re still connected to your body. What about the pull? Is it stronger?”

The pull became even stronger the moment that he felt contact. He nodded. Dean caressed his hands, linking his fingers with Castiel’s. He could just feel a hand in his. He wanted to cry.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean let go and was about to approach him again.

“Sorry.” He held his hand close to his chest. “I was just overwhelmed. Could you, um, could you hold my hand again?”

“Of course.” He took his spot beside Castiel’s body and took his hand, rubbing his thumb against the skin. He realized something. “Remember when you felt my cheek that one time and I very badly described the feeling?” He chuckled. “That throbbing I felt … I think it’s your heartbeat.”

They stood there in silence - Castiel relishing in the feeling of Dean’s hand in his, and Dean being able to feel something solid in between his fingers.

“I can’t force you to do anything. I know you’re scared, but you can have this with me, you know.” He spoke softly while rubbing Cas’ hand with his thumb. “You just have to wake up.”

“Okay.”

Dean looked so terribly hopeful that it made Castiel break out into a wide grin.

“I’ll do it.”

“Really? Okay, good.” He breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I need you to call Gabriel.” He looked down and furrowed his eyebrows. “And your brother. I suppose he’s my lawyer, by proxy. Should have him here.”

“Okay.”

“So when I succumb to the pull, how long do you think it’ll be before I wake up?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully instantaneously. Don’t want you drifting off to nowhere land.”

“Neither do I.” He smiled to try and reassure himself. “I want you, Gabriel, and Sam to be here. Alright?”

“We’ll be here.” He nodded. “When do you want to do this?”

“I’ll wait until you can arrange Sam and Gabriel’s schedule.”

“I’ll call them right now.”

He let of Castiel’s hand and already missed the feeling. He called and found a time that worked for all three of them. It seemed nine am tomorrow morning worked. Sam would pick them all up.

“9 it is.” He slid his phone in his jeans. “Did you want to do anything before that? We probably shouldn’t stay in the hospital overnight.”

Castiel stared at his body. His cold, seemingly lifeless body that was hooked up to so many machines in order to keep it alive. He’d soon return to it, and that was a terrifying thought.

“Cas?”

He snapped his head towards Dean. “What?”

“We can’t stay here. Do you wanna go back home?”

“Yeah.” He distractedly replied.

The return trip was silent once more, but for different reasons. Dean wasn’t sure what to say to him. Castiel was less amused by the sights now that he remembered seeing them before. He missed the naïveté of being a Victorian man in the 21st century, but it was not to be.

They didn’t perform their nightly ritual of watching TV and then heading to bed. Dean, instead, had a couple of drinks by himself in the kitchen, while Castiel stood outside for a bit watching the stars. They both felt like this was a goodbye - even worse than when they thought Castiel had to cross over once the house finished - and they didn’t know why. He would be back in his body and things would be right with the world. Excitement should have filled their bones, but instead, the knowledge of the morning’s procession felt hollow.

Dean settled into bed but found he couldn’t fall asleep. His nerves were keeping him awake. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he loved him, but that made absolutely no sense to him. He was in love with the Victorian ghost who haunted the house he was in, but that wasn’t Cas. Castiel Milton was just a character in a play. He was scared that the moment the man wakes up from the coma that he’d be a different person. It meant he never truly knew the real Castiel. Still, the only thing that mattered was that he wakes up, rather than eventually dying when some doctor pulls the plug. They could start over, assuming he wanted the same thing.

Eventually, Castiel appeared laying beside him, but he didn’t say anything to him for a while - he thought he was asleep. When he stirred, he looked over and saw that his eyes were wide open.

“Are you nervous?” He started with that question.

He shifted, but didn’t look at Cas. “Yeah.”

“Me, too.”

A beat passed.

“Why'd you want me to go back to my body so quickly?”

He sighed quietly. “There are a lot of reasons.”

“Tell me.”

“Um, Sam told me he was fighting against the doctor’s decision of wanting to take you off life support. He didn’t know how long he could reason with him.”

“Oh.”

“I couldn’t let you die, especially knowing you were there. How could I do that?” He paused. “I want to see you wake up. I want to be able to see you, not see through you.”

“Why are you nervous, then?”

“To be honest,” He turned and looked at him, “I guess I won’t really know you when you wake up. If this is a character you’re trying to develop for a play, then who are you really? Are you still playing the Victorian architect or are you the real you? Would you still want me?”

He didn’t say anything for a while. They were good questions, and he couldn’t answer them. He wasn’t sure who he was. He was lost, stuck somewhere between different personalities and memories. It wasn’t until the morning that they’d be able to find out, but at least right now, he could apologize.

“This house and I were built on lies - stories and memories I made up - and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry that you came to know someone who isn’t real.”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t consciously know what you were doing.”

“Still, I influenced a lot of your decisions that I should never have had any say on. You had your plans for this house, and I changed them to fit my narrative.”

“Cas ...” He tried to interrupt.

“I remember wanting to come here the night of the accident. I wanted to see this house. Maybe that's why I’m here. If I wasn’t so attached to this house, you wouldn’t have had to deal with me.”

The clouds blocked the moon from shining - it made the room darker and Dean a little sleepier. He yawned.

“Cas, I’m glad you are attached to this house. I care about you. Just because I’m afraid I won’t know the real you when you wake up doesn’t mean I’m not willing to get to know you all over again.”

“You would?”

“Of course. If you’re game, I’m game.” He yawned again. “Besides, this house is better because of you.”

Castiel could hear Dean’s breathing slow, and looking over he saw that his eyes were closed. “Good night, Dean.”

When he was sure that he was asleep, Castiel got out of bed and went outside once more, admiring the night sky. He was going to return to his body in a few hours and knowing that, the pull increased its intensity. He tried feeling for a pulse, and though he couldn’t feel it, he knew that just ten minutes away his heart was beating. He was ready to shed his character and return to being James Castiel Novak.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was filled with nervousness throughout the night, so he sprung out of bed a good couple of hours before they needed to be at the hospital because he couldn’t lay down anymore. Castiel wasn’t in the bedroom though. He found him wandering the downstairs halls, with his fingers gently gliding along the walls.

“Morning,” he said cautiously, not wanting to spook him.

“Good morning, Dean,” he replied without turning around.

“Are you ready?”

He faced him. “Yes.”

He scrubbed his hand over his face and yawned. “It’s still early, so we got time to kill. Anything you wanna do before that?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

He padded down the hall to the kitchen. “Are you sure? Last day as a ghost. Could go scare our neighbours. I’m sure Meg and Ruby would love that.” He chuckled and looked at him, who shook his head. “Alright.”

Dean quietly ate his breakfast while examining Castiel. He was stoic and showed no emotion on his face, even as his eyes scanned the newspaper that was laid out in front of him. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, and that made him suspicious - was Cas scared, nervous, reluctant, or excited to go back to his body? He simply couldn’t tell. From last night’s conversation, it seemed like he was ready. Perhaps this was just a glimpse at what Castiel Novak was really like. Strangely, he didn’t mind it. There was just enough of Castiel Milton in his personality and the way he presented himself that he wasn’t scared that he’d be a different person after he woke up.

***

Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes on him as he read the newspaper. Thankfully, he was trained to keep his expression, well, expressionless. He didn’t want to admit to him that he was scared to his core, especially since he seemed fine with everything. When Dean finally fell asleep last night, he had hours to think about his last year and how he missed _all_ the signs that he wasn’t a Victorian man. When he found out he was a character, it put things into perspective. Sure, he was eager to be alive again, but in the back of his mind, dancing between life and death provoked a weird sense of comfort. A part of him wanted to stay like this - a “ghost” who never had to eat or sleep, who never had to deal with bills, awkward family gatherings, and could disappear whenever - but it wasn’t his life and he knew that. Even riding it out and dying wouldn’t guarantee anything, and that scared him even more. The fact that he couldn’t automatically decide between choosing to live or choosing to die was what he was hiding from Dean.

Dean. _Dean._ He could live for him, but he couldn’t live with the rejection if he got to know the real Castiel Novak, assuming he still wanted to get to know the real him. He said he was scared that he didn’t know how to differentiate Castiel Milton and Castiel Novak, and neither could he. He lived his life as the Victorian architect for so long that he’d forgotten so much about his real self. Could he reconcile his personality when he woke up? Would it be like a reset button? The uncertainty and mountain of unanswered questions terrified him.

***

Dean could see Cas was thinking about something. It must have been a pretty significant train of thought if he could see the effort Castiel was putting in trying to look calm. He could, quite literally, see right through it. After living with the man for a while, any effort to look different was like an alarm bell.

“You’re thinking really hard there, Cas. Anything you wanna share with the class?” He pushed his now empty bowl of cereal away.

“No.” He forced himself to smile. “I’m good.”

He raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, then. I’m going to go get ready.”

He made it two steps up the staircase in the kitchen when he turned towards Cas and asked him again, “Are you sure you’re okay? If it’s about ...”

“I’m fine. A little nervous…” He really glossed over the word ‘little.’ “But I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” He shrugged and continued walking up the stairs.

When he was out of view, Castiel stood up and walked into the sitting room, pacing the floor. He felt he needed to drum up confidence to drown out his fear.

“It’s going to be fine. You’ll be awake and alive and with Dean.” He tried to reassure himself. “You don’t belong here. You don’t belong in this state.”

He attempted to focus on something else: the pull. It kept the same intensity from when Dean first held his hand in the hospital, but it was a bit easier to fight it this time. Perhaps in his subconscious thoughts, knowing he was going to return to his body made it easier to fight it, but it was still there to remind him who he was. Focusing on the warmth of the pull made him calm, and the stoic expression he kept on his face melted away to a serene look. Ironically, the thing he was initially scared of was doing the best job at reassuring him that everything was going to be okay.

A little while later, Dean nudged him out of his bubble to tell him that Sam was waiting outside. There was a brief introduction, though both of them knew so much about each other with Dean constantly talking about his brother, and Sam knowing Castiel from the files, that they really just said hello. The ride to the hospital was silent, save for the radio, with Sam stealing curious glances at Castiel sitting in the backseat. Their trip up was unnoticed by everyone except for Gabriel, who met them inside of the hospital room.

“Gabriel.” Castiel breathed out.

“Cassie.” He choked up and had to restrain himself from hugging his brother. “Jesus, it’s good to see you. I mean it’s weird as hell, but it’s still good.”

“I’m right there.” He narrowed his eyes and gestured to his body on the hospital bed.

“You know what I mean.” He took his appearance in. “How are you?”

“I don’t know. Fine, I think. Ready for this.” He nodded.

“Okay, what do you need?” His brother asked.

“Nothing. I just have to let go and let the pull take me in.” He walked towards his own body, looking down at his face.

Gabriel nervously bit at his lip and swatted Sam in the arm. “I’m getting my brother back.”

Castiel looked back at the three men in the room. Gabriel was buzzing with so much excitement that it looked like he was about to burst, Sam observed with curiosity, and Dean looked … he looked hopeful, until he didn’t.

“Cas?” He stepped forward.

“I’m sorry, I just need …” He looked around the room to distract himself from the anxiety he was feeling.

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t know. I feel suffocated. Overwhelmed, really.”

“Suffocated? What do you mean?”

All the unanswered questions that were weighing him down, the ones that he was trying so hard to keep to himself, burst out. He rattled them all off so quickly that Dean only managed to catch one.

“What if I forget you?” He was trying his hardest not to look panicked - they never discussed the fact that there was a chance he might lose all recollection of his time as a “ghost” and that got to him. He wished he or Dean did more research on coma patients.

“You won’t.”

Castiel looked down at his body. He looked scared, and Dean couldn’t blame him. “Tell me something I won’t forget.”

He knew the perfect words. “I love you.”

Not only did those three words shock him out of being scared, they made him completely forget the situation at hand. “What?”

“I love you.” He said with more conviction.

Castiel leaned in close to him and placed his hands on his cheeks. Dean could feel the cold tingle. He touched his forehead to Dean’s. He whispered back the same three words.

“I’ll see you soon, Dean.” He kissed his cheek. The tingling sensation lingered even as Castiel closed his eyes and slowly faded away.

The men waited for something to happen. They weren’t sure if it was supposed to be instantaneous - Dean certainly hoped so - or if there was a short waiting period. Either way, all of them sat down, stared, and waited.

An hour passed with no changes and the only thing keeping Dean from thinking that Cas died was the steady beep from the heart monitor. Gabriel and Sam left the room to grab a coffee, so it was only him and Cas. He stood up and neared the bed. He took Castiel’s hand in his and gently caressed it.

“Come on, Cas.” He muttered.

There was a brief moment where he entertained the idea of a kiss to wake him up, like so many clichéd movies he’d seen, but it was interrupted when Sam poked his head in the room and asked if anything happened yet. He shook his head.

“I got you a coffee.” He held it up.

He looked back at Castiel’s still body and then back to his brother. Hesitantly, he took the coffee and walked outside with Sam. Gabriel took Dean’s spot in the room.

“How are you?” Sam sat down beside his brother as he took large sips from the cup.

“Worried as hell. Should it take this long?”

He shrugged. “I literally have no idea. I am not the person to ask.”

“Okay, yeah, but something a little comforting would help.” He found he was bouncing his leg up and down.

Sam really looked at him. “You really love him, don’t you?”

He nodded. It took him less than five minutes to finish his coffee. When he got up to throw it out, he saw one of Castiel’s doctors and a couple of nurses rush into the room. Looking back at his brother, Sam motioned with his head that they’d better get in there. They tried to get in, but one of the nurses blocked them.

“I need to see him!” Dean raised his voice.

“He’s fine. He just woke up. They need to see if his vitals are okay before you can go in there. They’ll be taking out the breathing tube,” she sternly told them. “I’ll let you know when you can come in.”

It was the longest ten minutes of his life, but he was finally let into the room. Apparently, he’d opened his eyes, but wasn’t quite fully conscious to know what was going on. When everything calmed down, the doctor, one nurse, and the three men stayed, with the doctor telling Gabriel to talk to him.

“Cassie?” Gabriel tentatively spoke first.

Castiel blinked his eyes open again. His pupils were incredibly dilated, but once they focused in on his brother, they returned to a normal size. It took him a few moments to say anything.

“Gabriel.” His voice was hoarser than ever and his eyes squinted in the harsh lighting of the hospital room.

“Take it slow, Mr. Novak. Here’s some water. We just took the breathing tube out.” The doctor motioned to the cup with the straw.

Dean and Sam stood by watching in the corner. Castiel kept his eyes trained on the doctor and Gabriel - since they were blocking the view of the brothers - and the doctor and Gabriel related why he was in the hospital. When the doctor left to grab the nurse, Castiel finally saw the two.

“Cas.” Dean breathed out and walked towards him. Sam followed.

He blinked, looked at Gabriel, and slowly spoke after five agonizing seconds. “Who are they?”

It was like a hard slap to his face when he heard those three heartbreaking words.

“You don’t remember Dean?”

“No.”

“What about Sam?”

“No.”

Dean was speechless. What could he possibly say that would explain who he was to him. Instead, he turned around and walked out the door.

“Dean!” Sam looked at Gabriel. “I’m gonna go get him.”

Sam stopped his brother from getting to the elevator. “Where are you going?”

He tried to wipe the corners of his eyes as quickly as he could, but at this point, he didn’t care if Sam could see his tears. His emotions ran so high in the past twenty minutes, he was surprised he didn’t break down in sobs. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

He could see Sam was trying to formulate a plan. “We can explain …”

“And tell him he was this weird ghost thing that haunted me while I was constructing a house? Yeah, right. He’s already traumatized from the accident, we can’t add to that.” He scoffed. “I-I’m going to go.”

He couldn’t stop him, so Sam returned to the room. The doctor was talking to Castiel, leaving Gabriel free to observe. “Gabriel, can I talk to you?”

They talked outside the hospital room. They went back and forth coming up with ways to explain how in the past year, Castiel was a ghostly entity. They couldn’t come up with a way that sounded remotely realistic or sane, so they put a pause on trying. It probably wasn’t a good idea to overwhelm a coma patient quite so soon after waking up.

Because he didn’t drive there, Dean had to walk home. He looked up at the sky, wishing it was raining just to add to his miserable feelings, but the sun shone brightly as if it were mocking him. When he walked up the steps and opened the door, he immediately noticed how lifeless and cold his house felt, and yet, everything around him reminded him of Castiel. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he did break down in tears, but he picked himself up knowing that it was the right thing to do in letting him go. He remembered saying he would gladly get to know the real Castiel, but how could he, if the real Castiel had no idea who Dean was?

**Two Months Later**

He spent two months racking his brain around how to forget Castiel. He still had feelings for the man, but he didn’t know how to approach him at all. How did a person even approach someone with memories that the latter couldn’t remember having? He was too proud to ask Sam or Gabriel for help, especially since Sam was busy with his newborn child, but he did learn about Castiel’s month of rehab when he would occasionally chat about the case.

There was a knock at the door. Dean groaned and got up, garlic bread still sticking out of his mouth. He didn’t know why Sam just didn’t use his spare key - unless he lost it again, then he would get a good yelling at - but he opened the door. The garlic bread fell to the floor and his mouth hung open a little unceremoniously.

“Um, hello.” Castiel spoke as he looked down at the piece of garlic bread on the floor.

Castiel was dressed in a suit, tie, and trench coat. It was strange to see him in an entirely different outfit. The get up made him wonder if it was for a role, or if he actually dressed like that on a day to day basis. It didn't seem like he recognized Dean from either his time as a weird ghost entity, or from the hospital when he first woke up.

“Ca-.” He snapped his mouth shut. “Hi. Uh.” Dean literally had no idea what to say to the man he was still in love with. “Can I, uh, help you?”

“Yes. I was wondering who did the construction for the house. I remember it being very … run down.” He was examining the details on the door and trying to get a peek of the interior.

“I did the construction. I completely renovated and almost nearly restored it to the original design from 1899.” He explained. “I’m a contractor.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad. I always wanted to see this house restored to its former glory, as they say.” He began to back away. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Did you, uh,” he was thinking of a way to not make this sound creepy, “want a house tour? You kinda seem invested it?”

He looked hesitant.

“I’m not a murderer or anything. I literally live across two policewomen.” He teased and also defensively put his hands up. “I’m Dean.” He put one hand out for him to shake.

Maybe he felt ridiculous in believing that some sort of skin to skin contact would reignite Castiel's lost memories, but he held in his breath when he shook his hand. Nothing happened, obviously, and Dean cursed the movies that portrayed situations turning out like that.

“Sure, that would be nice, actually. I’m Castiel.” He stepped through the entrance and just close enough to Dean that he could smell the slightest whiff of cologne. “I have to admit, I use to trespass when I was doing research for the play I’m writing, but this was long before the house was redone. I’m quite impressed.”

“Thanks.” The corner of his mouth twitched upwards, but he cleared his throat and turned his back towards him, leading the man inside the house. This was such a bad idea, and he knew it, but he could not resist being in his’ presence one last time, even if this was literally Castiel’s first time meeting him. He brought him in the living room.

“You took down half of the wall.” Castiel noticed that first.

“Yeah.” He smiled.

“I liked the wall.”

“I know.” He accidentally blurted out, but he didn’t seem to question it. “I, uh, put in pocket doors to compromise.”

“Compromise?”

“Yeah, um, someone else really liked the wall, too.”

Something changed very minutely in his expression, and he began to voice what he was thinking. “I feel like I’ve seen this all before. Like I’ve been here...”

Dean shrugged. Like hell he was going to explain why, but he wanted to scream, “you have! You were here, with me!”

He looked around the room and sat down, absentmindedly, his face changing once more. “It’s exactly …” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry,” he said when he noticed he was sitting on the sofa, which, coincidentally, was the same spot he used to sit in when he was a ghost. “May I see the rest?”

“Of course.”

He led him into the dining room and kitchen. They walked past the space where the former closet was. He mentioned it wasn’t there anymore and Dean rebutted that he found a fireplace. He wanted to see it, so he led him to the sitting room.

“It’s beautiful.” They were standing facing the fireplace when Castiel made the remark. Dean’s phone went off at the same time, so he left him in the room to look around.

It took Dean a few minutes to answer the call, but when he returned to the sitting room, he saw him still standing by the fireplace with a few pieces of paper in his hands.

“Whatcha reading?” He asked curiously from across the room, not recognizing the pieces of paper he was holding.

Castiel looked up with a confused and distraught expression on his face and held up the papers. “What the fuck is this?” That made Dean perk up - hearing him swear for the first time. He couldn’t see them from where he was, so he stepped closer to him, but that apparently made him defensive. “Don’t come closer.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tried to explain his innocence, but without knowing what he was holding, he couldn’t really defend himself.

“I’m outta here.” Castiel pushed past him with anger in his eyes, and out the door, slamming it hard.

Dean stood there looking at the door with his mouth agape, confused as hell, and hurt. He had absolutely no idea what he was going on about, so he stiffly picked up the fallen piece of garlic bread and went on with the rest of his day trying to avoid thinking about Cas.

***

When James Castiel Novak awoke from his coma, he was delirious and very parched. He didn’t know what was happening and the light in his hospital room was so bright that he had to squint to see his brother and doctor. The doctor began to explain what was happening, but realizing he’d been out for over a year nearly put him in shock. He didn’t remember much after waking, but he did remember seeing two attractive men and being asked if he remembered them. He responded honestly, and that prompted one of them to leave in a hurry. He didn’t pay much mind to that, but was introduced to the other after a couple of weeks - Sam Winchester, Gabriel’s lawyer.

He went through a month of rehab, counselling, meetings, and other miscellaneous things to get back to normal and pick up from where he left off. Even after the accident, he still wanted to continue with writing his play, but he had no inspiration for it. He credited his lack of ideas to feeling different, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile his current personality with the one before the coma, and found that his apartment felt alien to him - sometimes, he felt suffocated by how small his place was, even though it’d been his home for more than a couple of years. These new feelings were completely unfounded, and he spoke to his therapist about it a lot. One topic in particular he brought up were his dreams.

He kept dreaming of the house on Everett Street and a man.

He couldn’t quite remember the man’s face, as his memory of his features would disappear every morning, but he remembered seeing flashes of green. Green shirt? Green hair? His therapist couldn’t explain the dreams logically, so they didn’t talk about it too much besides finding ways to stop having them - none of the techniques worked. So night after night, he would live out a strange dream in the same house with the same man. Sometimes they’d include other faceless people. A few times Sam would pop up, speaking in a friendly, brotherly tone to the main faceless man.

He began dreaming of changes to the house - things he wanted the house to look like, at least on the inside - and the changes would stay there each night he fell asleep. It got to the point where the faceless man was painting the house that he felt the sudden urge to go and see it. There was a strange pull that compelled him to visit. After a doctor’s appointment, he made his way to the house on Everett Street and was genuinely surprised to see the outside was completely restored. He never saw the outside in his dream. All the overgrown shrubbery was gone, the cracked and missing railings were replaced, and the siding was repainted a vibrant yellow. Clearly, someone had taken residence in the past year he was in a coma.

He found himself unconsciously walking up the steps of the Victorian home and placing his hand on the doorknob, intending to turn it. Catching himself, he released his hold on it and knocked firmly on the door. He realized he had no idea what to say to the owner should they be home.

A man with broad shoulders, dark sandy blond hair, and green eyes opened the door. Castiel was too stunned by his handsomeness to notice the piece of garlic bread that fell from the man’s mouth. He heard himself greet the man, and before he knew it, he was given a house tour.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t seeing his dreams become reality. Unlike the hazy, dulled nature of his dreams, everything he was seeing was in high definition. It took him a moment to get through what he believed was weird deja vu. He made some small talk with the owner, Dean, until he had to leave him in the sitting room to take a call. He was admiring the fireplace from afar when the urge to really examine it took hold of him. Like an out-of-body experience, he found himself moving towards the fireplace as flashes of one of his forgotten dreams tried to guide him. Standing in front, a strange feeling took hold of him. He felt antsy, nervous, and shaky - feelings that should have told him to leave - and he looked behind to make sure Dean wasn’t watching, and began to rifle under the fireplace, searching for _something_.

Soon enough, his hand made contact with pieces of paper that were taped to the underside. Somehow he _knew_ that was he was holding in his hand wasn’t Dean’s, and was never meant for him. Brushing the soot away from his hand, he opened the papers. The sketches of him, Dean, and the house startled him. They were of a likeness he wasn’t sure he could draw, but the handwriting at the bottom told him it was his writing. Flipping the page, he recognized more of his handwriting filling the pages. As he began reading, he realized they matched up to his dreams to a tee. Not only that but Dean was peppered all along the pages. Confused, he flipped to the last page, only to see that it was signed “Castiel J. Milton,” his character for his Victorian play.

Dumbstruck, he stared at it for what seemed like a long time until Dean returned to the room. He lashed out at him in confusion, desperately needing an answer for the pieces of paper he was holding. He could read from Dean’s face that even he had no idea what he was looking at, so he stormed out hoping to find answers from someone else.


	13. Chapter 13

He drove to Gabriel’s house and questions began to pile up in his brain. Had he written this in some drunk stupor, broke into the house, and taped it there before his accident? Was there actually a Castiel J. Milton who had written this 100 years ago? How did he even know to look under the fireplace? All these questions gave him a headache, so he turned up his radio to full blast, hoping it would drown everything out. When he arrived, he knocked furiously at the door until Gabriel opened it. His cheery demeanour at seeing his brother dropped when he noticed that Castiel was both fuming and nearly in shock.

“What happened?” Gabriel ushered him in quickly.

He held up his hands, where he was clutching the pages tightly. He shoved it at Gabriel’s chest and stalked towards his kitchen, hoping Gabriel still had some hard liquor stashed somewhere. Somehow he didn’t notice the other car parked in the driveway until his lawyer piped up from behind him.

“Um, hey, Cas.” Sam cleared his throat. He was sitting at the kitchen table looking at some of what he assumed were the files on his car accident.

“Oh, hello, Sam.” He turned around when he found the hard stuff. “Drink?”

“No, thanks.” He stood up. “Is everything alright?”

Gabriel walked in with a terrified and shocked expression on his face. He looked at Cas and held it up. “Where did you find this?”

“I went to the house on Everett Street. I needed to see it for some reason, so I went and met the owner. He showed me around the house and he had to take a call. I found this hidden in the fireplace.” He took a big gulp of his drink.

“How’d you know to find it there?”

“I don’t know. It was pure intuition.”

“That's not intuition, Cassie. This is something else. This is like being psychic.”

Castiel carefully tried to string together a way to segue into his next topic of conversation. “Um, I haven’t told you guys this, but I’ve been having these dreams.”

Sam and Gabriel shared a look. Sam was the one to ask, “What dreams?”

“Dreams that are told word by word in those pages.” Castiel nodded in Gabriel's direction.

“This is in your handwriting,” he spoke.

“I know, but I couldn’t have written it. I don’t know this Dean person, and how does it explain it retelling my dreams in such precise detail?” He took a breath. “It’s signed in my character’s name, Gabe. Besides you, me, and Sam, I guess, no one knows that name.”

Sam and Gabe shared another look. He could tell they wanted to say something to him, but weren’t sure how to go about it.

“What is it?” He hurried them along, hoping to get some logical answer.

“You tell him,” Sam said.

“No, you tell him,” Gabriel rebutted.

“He’s your brother.”

“Damn it, Winchester.” He sighed before turning towards him. “Everything in this, and I guess your dreams, are true. They all happened.”

He blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“Do you remember anything, anything at all, when you were in your coma?”

“No, not a thing. The last thing I remembered was getting hit by the car and then I woke up in the hospital.” He backtracked. “But what do you mean everything happened?”

They were about to share another look, but Castiel put a stop to it. “Just tell me.”

“You, uh,” Sam began. “You were … um … a ghost?”

“A what?”

“A ghost. You were a ghost.” He said more resolutely. “You somehow got attached to the house on Everett Street and I think you began to take on your Victorian character? You were that character for more than a year, I think.”

“I … what!?” He still had no idea what to say to that. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The two men both solemnly shook their heads. Castiel snatched the pages from Gabriel’s hands and skimmed the ending. It stopped before the decorating started. He noticed that towards the last few pages, Dean took on a more prominent role in what he was reading, and he found that there was a strong tone of affection for the man.

“Who’s Dean? What does this Dean person have to do with it?”

“He bought the house with the intention to restore it,” Gabriel answered first. “When you were a ghost, or spirit, or whatever, you convinced him to redesign it to your vision. He wanted to help you move on to the other side. He thought you were stuck at that house and wouldn’t leave until you, or I guess your character, saw it renovated to the original design.”

“He’s, uh, he’s also my brother,” Sam added.

Castiel turned around, placed his tumbler and the pages down on the counter, and swiped his palm down his face, muttering to himself, “This can’t be real.”

Sam cautiously approached him and took a look at the papers. It took him a few moments to digest everything. He confirmed with the two brothers that everything did follow Dean’s construction plans.

“But a ghost? How could I have been a ghost?” He turned around suddenly, startling Sam.

“Well, you weren’t technically a ghost. You didn’t die,” he said, a bit dumbly. “Uh, we aren’t really sure ourselves, but we did see you. You were pretty translucent.”

“You saw me?” He tilted his head.

“Yeah, I was …” He realized something so incredibly important and rushed to the table he was sitting at, rifling through his files to find his phone. He found what he needed and showed the picture he caught of him. “Look.”

He narrowed his eyes and zoomed in on the picture. It was him standing in the living room wearing his Victorian costume, and he could easily see Dean’s flannel shirt through his own body. He was convinced.

“That’s me.”

Sam nodded.

“Why don’t I remember any of it?”

He shrugged.

“You painted the siding,” he mentioned a little randomly. “In my dreams, I remember you. You were helping Dean paint.”

“I did.” He wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “I was there for more of it, though.”

“I-I haven’t gotten far enough in my dreams to see that.”

“Wait, are you dreaming things in chronological order?” Gabriel asked.

He bit his lip. “Yes, I believe so.”

Sam and Gabriel shared another infuriating look, which made him groan. “Seriously, stop that.”

“Did you dream of anything else before the construction dreams started?”

“No. The first day in the hospital is when I started dreaming. I think I was watching people tear apart the floors, cleaning the house, and doing some pest control. It’s very choppy. Sometimes it seems like I’m missing entire parts of the dreams.”

Sam looked at his calendar on his phone. “I think that was in the first two weeks. You dreamt all of that in one night?”

He nodded. “Again, it’s really choppy.”

“At that rate, you’re getting close to the end of all of it. Before you … well, before you returned to your body.”

“What’s going to happen after that?” He asked, curious.

Gabriel speculated, “You’ll have all your memories of when you were at the house. You’ll probably stop dreaming of it? You know, you should totally write a book. I can see it now. ‘My Year as a Coma Ghost, by James Castiel Novak.’”

“Yeah, or a play.” Sam joked.

It wasn’t a bad idea. His fingers began to twitch with inspiration, desperately needing a keyboard and a blank page to type. He began to form the outline of the idea in his head, and tried his best to remember his previous dreams. Apparently, Gabriel and Sam were trying to get his attention, but he tuned them out.

“Sorry, I missed what you were saying.” He focused his eyes on the two.

“Are you going to go see Dean again?” Gabriel asked.

He thought that was an interesting question for his brother to ask. “No, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“I-I’m sure he’d love to see you again.” Sam coughed.

“I wouldn’t think so. I did yell obscenities at him just a few hours ago.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Maybe you could always, uh, chat with him about your time as a fake ghost,” He nervously suggested.

His fingers tapped against his legs in anticipation. “Maybe. I’ll consider it. I should go.” He took the pages from Sam and left his brother’s house, eager to get to his computer.

The first night he wasn’t able to fall asleep. Instead, he spent the night furiously typing away. He drew up an outline and then began to write his scenes. When he was stuck, he closed his eyes to try and remember past dreams and then typed them up so he wouldn’t forget. He felt so energized that even his therapist commented during their session, but it was after she chided him about not getting any sleep that night.

When he did finally go to bed at a normal hour, he dreamt with a new perspective. As he dreamt, he realized he had no control over his dreams - whatever he wanted to say was replaced by different words, words that he must have spoken as his time as a fake spirit. He couldn’t even control where he wanted to go. However, he finally placed a face to the man, _Dean_. Green eyes were what he was seeing.

Every morning, he would immediately go to his laptop and type up the night’s events. If his dreams were being dreamt at an accelerated rate, he’d have a finished play in no time. It still hadn’t dawned on him that he was a ghost - he was so motivated by this idea for a play that it didn’t shock him until he was asked about his inspiration for it by his therapist. He was speechless. He couldn’t explain what he was. His therapist would think he was regressing into an incorrect mentality. Instead, he lied through his teeth and hoped her suspicions would fade away.

When he went home that day, he forced himself to see if he could uncover any repressed memories from his brain about being a ghost. He didn’t understand why his memories manifested as dreams. As hard as he tried, he came up empty. However, he began to notice an ache building in his chest. It was a feeling of longing that was unfamiliar to him.

Days went by and more memories were revealed to him. After painting was finished and before the rest of the house was set up, he watched as he began sketching, and then journaling his time with Dean. Watching himself write he could almost feel the amount of emotion being poured into those pages. The tone of affection wasn’t unfounded - he truly loved the man and he was longing for him.

Waking up, he realized how empty he felt and how much his heart yearned to be back to that yellow house with Dean, but the conflicted feelings of remembering how he felt with how he felt currently prevented him. He just couldn’t quite go back yet. He needed to know how it ended. He needed to understand why they went back to being strangers.

Castiel was on edge night after night desperate for answers, but that determination and stress kept him from dreaming for long periods, as he would frequently wake up in the middle of the night in anticipation. After the decorating, house warming, and then finally listening to dream Dean reveal that his historical background had no merit, he finally got his ending in the next few dreams.

He was watching TV by himself like any other night when Dean returned from the hospital. He was ready to say congratulations when he noticed the strange expression on the man’s face. He wanted to try something with Castiel which led to him leaving the house and riding in the Impala. Watching the dream, he could feel the feelings of joy and curiosity radiating from him. At the hospital, those feelings turned into confusion as his world seemed to shatter around him once he saw his body.

Dean explained the situation as memories resurfaced in his mind. In hindsight, he took the revelation quite well. It wasn’t until nightfall that he began to have either doubts or moments of unwavering confidence with his decision to return to his body. When the time came the next morning, he watched as he nervously blurted out questions. He was trying to stall the inevitable, even with the hopeful eyes of his brother and Sam’s watching on. It wasn’t until Dean told him that he loved him that he was certain that it was the right thing to do.

He faded away into darkness, and it was in that state he felt as if he was submerged in water and being pulled by some invisible force. The next thing he knew he was awake, and he didn’t need his dreams to remind him what happened from then on. Instead of writing everything down, he grabbed his phone and called Gabriel.

“Y’ello, what’s up? I’m just heading into a spin class.”

“You do spin? You know what, nevermind. I need to talk to you,” he said seriously.

“Okay. Go.”

“I’m done with the dreams.”

“Oh?”

He swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling guilt and regret for his actions even if it wasn't intentional. The dull ache in his heart returned. “He told me he loved me and I broke his heart by forgetting who he was.”

There was two seconds of silence on the other end. “Yeah, you kinda did.”

“What do I do?”

“Do you think you know Dean well enough to just continue what you were doing? You know, pick up from where you left off?”

He thought about it. Could he just pop right back into his life?

“I’m going to take the silence as a no.” There was some shuffling. “If you still feel something for the guy, I think you should ask him out. Start over. He was, uh, he was in bad shape after you woke up. I think he could handle you asking him out now.”

“How do I do that?”

“Text Sam. He’ll give you Dean’s number. Okay, gotta go. Tell me how it works out.”

After the call, he texted Sam, who gladly responded with a bunch of smiley face emojis and a phone number. He stared at the number for a while, trying to come up with what to say. He even went so far as to rehearse in front of a mirror, but the butterflies in his stomach wouldn’t calm down even when he had the words formed. Taking a deep breath, he dialed.

At the first ring, he immediately hung up. He wasn’t ready for this. Placing his phone down, he went to his laptop and distracted himself by writing out the events of the last dream, incorporating them into the play but really disliking the way it ended. He wanted a happy ending and this wasn’t one. He decided to do something about it.


	14. Chapter 14

Another couple of months passed after Dean was surprised by Castiel’s sudden appearance at his house. It struck him then that he really, really needed to either take control of his feelings or let it consume him. He just couldn’t decide what to do. Much to his chagrin, he tried counselling. He hoped that someone else could make that decision.

After telling the therapist a very watered down story and taking some liberties in explaining how it ended, she told him that she couldn’t make that decision, of course. She told him he needed closure in that relationship, and that talking to Castiel was the way to go, whether he liked it or not. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t just say “hey, you were a ghost and we were kinda dating, so where do we go from here?” but he just smiled and politely thanked her for the help.

He thought time off away from Newport was the best thing. He thought that if he cleared his head he could come up with the confidence to approach Castiel and somehow do something about it. He stayed in an ultra modern hotel, had a bunch of one night stands, and did a bunch of shopping for his niece. He returned three weeks later with no clue as to what to say to him, and to a bunch of mail, but one unexpected piece caught his attention.

It was an envelope with his name on it. There was no indication of who sent it, nor did it include his own mailing address, but he opened it anyways. Inside was a ticket to a one-man play written by someone called “Lance Kovatis”. All the information was on the ticket: time, place, and most importantly - it was one night only. He decided to see if it was a legitimate play or some sort of lure to get him to go to some shady warehouse where they would steal his organs. Pulling up his laptop he searched up the name of the play. There wasn’t much out there - no website, but there was a Facebook event for it, though it didn’t tell him anything about the play. It did show him a list of people involved in it. The main character was being played by Castiel Novak.

“Shit.” He stood up to take out his phone from his pocket and immediately dialled Sam. “Hey, are you busy?”

The sound of his crying niece could be heard. “Uh, not really. Just give me a second to soothe Mary.”

It took him a few minutes, but he just stared dumbly at Castiel’s name, and only his name, the entire time.

His brother returned to the phone. “Is everything okay?”

“I got a ticket in the mail to a play. No name, no return address. Nothing.” He sent him the link of the event. “I just messaged you the event. Look who is playing the main character.”

It took him a few seconds.

“Oh.”

He scoffed. “Yeah.”

“You know, I was going to go to this, but both Jess and I are busy…”

He interrupted him. “Okay, that’s not the point here.”

Sam chuckled. “So what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know. Should I go?”

“Are you ready to see him? You said you wanted closure.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t know how to get it. I’ll seem crazy to him if I explain what I need. The last time we talked it didn’t exactly end well.”

He could tell that his brother was conjuring some kind of plan in his head just by the way he was taking a long time to answer. “Why don’t you just go and see the play. Maybe something will come to you.”

He stared at the ticket. “Alright.”

The night of the performance, his nerves took hold. He was pleasantly surprised to see that the theatre was decently packed, but he still felt a little off knowing that he was about to watch Castiel on stage. He came upon Gabriel mingling in the crowd in the foyer and he looked at Dean with a curious brow.

“Dean-o. Didn’t think you’d be here.”

“I, uh, yeah. Thought I’d see it. One night only.” He nervously chuckled. “Any idea what the play is about?”

“I do. I know the guy who wrote it really well.” He gave him his best shit-eating grin. “But I ain’t telling you what it’s about.”

“Of course not.”

There was a five minute warning in the theatre telling everyone to get to their seats.

“Where are you sitting?” He made conversation.

“Oh, I’m not watching the play from the crowd. I’ll be backstage. I’ve seen the play rehearsed enough to know it like the back of my hand.” He smirked. “Where are you sitting?”

“Uh, row C, seat 12.” He looked at his ticket.

He gave him a look. “Nice. Well, you better get going.”

“Right.” He narrowed his eyes and went through the doors into the theatre, easily finding his seat.

The show started somewhat unexpectedly with the curtains being drawn back on a dark stage. Suddenly, the spotlight came on and Castiel jumped into the spotlight from what Dean assumed was a hidden trap door on the stage. Castiel, breaking the fourth wall, began to explain that the play was a comedy, love story, and tragedy rolled into one. He emphasized that it was all true, and that got some chuckles in the audience. He was glad he looked far off into the distance. If he made eye contact with Dean, he wasn’t sure how he would take it.

“I died. This is my story.” The spotlight went off and the curtains closed for a moment as the small orchestra began to play the prelude. Suddenly, the curtains were pulled back again, revealing the backdrop: a dilapidated yellow house with cartoonish grass placed all over the stage. Castiel stood in the middle in the Victorian outfit Dean grew to know. He could recognize those clothes anywhere. All at once, men and women in construction clothes began walking from either side of the stage to the other side, picking up the grass and other “overgrown plants” that littered the stage.

Castiel watched the men and women with curiosity when he began to speak. “Archived materials. The Newport Chronicles. January 10, 1893. Obituaries.” He recited the rest of his fake obituary and Dean scrambled to find a program to find out what was going on.

He politely and quietly asked if he could see the program of the person sitting next to him. She graciously let him and he squinted his eyes to read what it said. He found the play summary.

“It’s a story of boy meets boy, where an architect falls in love with a contractor, except the architect is a Victorian ghost and cannot be seen or heard by anyone until Dean, the contractor, can.”

“Oh, shit,” he muttered softly, prompting someone behind to shush him.

He gave the program back and gulped, intently watching the next scene. When “Dean” came on stage, he shrunk in his seat as he took in the similarities of the actor. Tall, handsome, and dressed almost in the same outfit he wore the first time he visited the house.

The whole of act one consisted of Castiel’s point of view, something that Dean had no idea of. He wasn’t sure how much creative freedom Castiel took, but to see how hopeful and then devastated he was to see his house being torn apart made him feel guilty. There were also side quips to the audience about “Dean”, which were pretty funny, but seemingly out of character from when Dean knew him.

It took him a stupidly long time into act one to realize that the lines were almost word for word conversations that he had with Castiel or other subcontractors he hired. He didn’t know how the playwright, Lance, could have known, but it disturbed him to no end.

“Oh, my god.” He heard himself say, eliciting another shush.

His eyes scanned the stage, following Castiel’s every move, though he was still in shock at that revelation. He could legitimately guess what a character was going to say next. That shock carried into act two, where “Dean” was recovering from seeing Castiel. He wasn’t quite paying attention, but rather desperately trying to come up with a logical reason as to how most of the lines were replicated. He reasoned that Gabriel must have helped. In the back of his mind, he wondered if acting this out would help Castiel remember who Dean was, but that wasn’t something he was actively worrying about. He was irrationally wondering if he needed to file a restraining order against the playwright. During intermission, he found Gabriel getting a beer and pulled him aside. In a stern tone, he asked if he helped with the play. He simply gave him a knowing smirk.

“How does he know the exact words I’ve said?”

“Why don’t you just watch the rest of it.”

“Does Castiel know?”

“You’re clearly not thinking straight.” He looked at Dean with a mixture of confusion and humour in his face. “Why don’t you just watch the rest of it?”

“How is that going to help? I know what’s going to happen. He’s going to wake up at a hospital and forget about me and then the curtains will fall and that’ll be it.” He scoffed. “I’m going to leave. I really don’t need to see ‘Dean’,” he used finger quotations, “getting rejected.”

Gabriel placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just watch it to the end. You won’t be sorry.”

Sighing, Dean returned to his seat. He watched the rest of act three with slight disinterest, especially knowing what was going to happen at the end of act four. In all honesty, Dean felt it strange to watch what was essentially his life being performed by some other dude in a packed theatre. Surely, they didn’t know that it was based on him, but he did, and he flushed red every time “Dean” placed a hand on Castiel’s arm. It was a bit disconcerting watching Castiel and “Dean” act romantic. The only thing that seemed to ground him to the performance were the bits that seemed off - their interactions were somewhat stilted and not as smooth as how he acted with Cas.

He geared himself up for act four, ready to watch Castiel forget about him again. He knew it was going to hurt, but maybe he’d be able to get some sort of sick closure from this. When the curtains opened, they were at the hospital. The bed was faced away from the audience so no one could tell if there was actually anyone in it. Castiel reacted to finding that he was in a coma the same way he did when he was in his corporeal form. In the next scene - “the next day” as it were - Dean felt a knot in his stomach. It was time. All of the characters on stage were reciting word from word what was said the day Castiel returned to his body. It was surreal to watch it all happen again. Even his panicked outburst was the same.

“Tell me something I won’t forget.”

Unlike what actually happened, “Dean” leaned in and whispered something into Castiel’s ear. Confused, he continued to watch as Castiel placed a kiss on “Dean’s” cheek, whispering into the man’s ear. That made his stomach turn - was he so ashamed by what Dean said that he reduced it to whispers that no one in the audience could hear?

The stage began to fade to black. Suddenly, a mixture of voices began to fill the auditorium - lines that were said throughout the play, and even the sound of a car crashing, until the only sound was the beep from a heart monitor.

The stage was illuminated again, but this time the hospital bed was tilted at an angle so that the audience could see Castiel in bed. The doctor and his “brother” surrounded him. Dean’s eyes went to “Dean” - he was standing a little ways away from the bed, anxiously looking at Castiel.

“Cas?”

Here it was. The rejection. Dean held in his breath and watched Castiel.

He smiled. “Hello, Dean.”

The curtain went down. The audience applauded. Dean sat in his chair, his jaw hanging slightly open and his brow in a perpetual furrow. He blinked a couple of times to get his expression back to something neutral. He absentmindedly clapped along as the curtain rose again for the cast to bow. He couldn’t meet Castiel’s eyes. Not yet. He was still a little too stunned.

When the curtain went back down once more, he remained glued to his seat, even as everyone began to leave the theatre. He didn’t realize that ten minutes had passed.

“He changed the ending.” Were the first words when Gabriel sat down beside him.

The theatre was almost completely empty, but he just could not move.

“Yeah, he did.”

“Why?” He looked at Gabriel.

“He didn’t like the original ending.” He shrugged as if that was the simplest answer in the world.

He shook his head, giving him an annoyed expression. “How could Lance possibly know any of this, much less the original ending?”

“Okay, Dean, forget about that for a second. I think you’re overthinking this. God, contractors.” He grumbled and then composed himself. “Who wrote this play?” He began to spell this out for a shell-shocked Dean.

“Some guy named Lance?”

“Wrong. You’d think you would have figured this out by now. My brother really likes fake names.”

“Wait, what?” He realized just as he asked. “Castiel?”

“Yes, it’s an anagram. Now do you remember what he said at the very beginning of the play?” He looked at him earnestly.

“What did he say?”

He stood up. “It’s a true story.”

He wrestled with those words in his brain. “It’s a true story.”

“Oh, shit.” This time there was no one there to shush him. “He remembered?”

Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows. “Gotta go, Dean-o. I’ll be seeing you.” He saluted him goodbye, climbed up onto the stage, and disappeared behind the curtain.

He scoffed, shook his head and smiled. He remembered. He drummed his fingers on the armrest, contemplating his next move. Maybe he should call him tomorrow. See him tomorrow. See if wanted to grab a coffee. With plans developing quickly in his head, he stood up, walked to the end of his row, and began to walk up the aisle to the doors.

A voice called over from the stage. “Hey.”

That voice was unmistakeable. He turned around. “Hi.”

Castiel stood on the stage, now in his everyday clothes, and looked at him with curious eyes. Dean began walking back down the aisle. “Uh, congrats on the play.”

“Thank you. Did you enjoy it?”

“I did.”

“I was hoping you would come.”

The _ticket_. “You were the one who gave me the ticket?”

He nodded.

“So you …” He gestured to the stage, hoping he would understand.

“Yes, I do. I remember all of it. I, um, I was dreaming of you.” He looked away for a moment, shy from his confession.

“You dreamt of me?”

“Yes. Since waking up from the coma. I didn’t realize it at the time, but they were memories.”

“When did you realize?” He was now standing a few feet away from Cas, who’d walked down the short flight of stairs by the stage.

“When I found those papers under your fireplace.”

He remembered that day. “I didn’t know they were there.”

“I did.” He shrugged. “Well, I sort of did. I had a feeling. I was getting … pulled in that direction.”

“Pulled?” He smirked at the irony.

Both men decided that being just a couple of feet away was still a little too far apart. Castiel took a step towards him, now thoroughly in his personal space.

“Dean.”

He looked at Castiel. “Mhmm?” He missed those eyes.

“I asked you to tell me something I wouldn’t forget.” He smiled a soft smile, placing a hand on Dean’s cheek. He almost expected to feel the cold tingle, but it was soft and warm. He leaned into the touch.

“You did.” His heart was beating a mile a minute.

“I remembered.” He blushed, looking down. “Did you mean it? Do you still mean it?”

“Of course.” He choked out. “Why didn’t you say it on stage?”

“Because it wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for you.”

The sound of the curtain rustling from the stage didn’t break their eye contact, but the stage manager calling Castiel over did. As much as they’d love to continue to stare at each other, there were things to attend to and Castiel had people to thank for putting on a successful play.

“Can I see you later?” He asked, hopeful.

Dean nodded, a soft smile ghosting upon his lips. “You know where I live.”


End file.
